


To Guard and Fall, To Fall and Guard

by rocks_and_mountains, rocksandmountains (rocks_and_mountains)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Amnesia, Angst with a Happy Ending, But not really human, Eventual Fluff, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Guardian Angels, Guardian Crowley, He literally knows nothing, Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens), Human Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Love Languages, M/M, Memory Loss, Miscommunication, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:55:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 33,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27976959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rocks_and_mountains/pseuds/rocks_and_mountains, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rocks_and_mountains/pseuds/rocksandmountains
Summary: “Tell me.” Crowley lent forward to grip his lapels, pushing Aziraphale back into the sofa cushions. “Tell you remember something of the last 6000 years…” Of me, was the silent plea, please tell me you remember something of me.Aziraphale loses his memory after an accident, and keeps getting into trouble. It's lucky his redheaded guardian angel is always there to watch out for him.Crowley loses his best friend,againand is determined to find answers, whilst protecting him from harm. Heaven aren't going to let an opportunity like this pass to punish the rebel principality.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 68
Kudos: 170
Collections: Good Omens Amnesia Fics, Tip Top Stories





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first posting of work on here, so apologies in advance if some of the formatting is weird! I'll edit as I go. 
> 
> Rated as mature just in case, but doubt there will be anything very explicit (I say now...)

The night was warm as they left The Ritz, the last of the summer still clinging in the air. An unspoken agreement had them strolling slowly back to the bookshop, the Bentley making its own way home, and Crowley felt himself dragging his feet to stretch out the evening.

They’d had countless meals over the years, more in the last ten than before the arrival of the Antichrist, but tonight had been different. The weight of their responsibilities suddenly lifted had left them initially giddy with freedom and they’d each indulged even more than usual – Aziraphale in the 12-course tasting menu, Crowley in 12 types of wine as they’d laughed and joked the evening away.

But giddiness had settled into quiet contemplation, and by the time they were walking up the street to the bookshop they’d barely said a word for the last few minutes.

A Z Fell came into view, aglow under the streetlight. Crowley stumbled slightly as he looked up at the shimmering shopfront, the windows reflecting the light making it look ablaze for a moment. It came back in a rush; the flames, the smoke, the screaming, someone screaming for Aziraphale…

“Crowley?”

His gaze snapped up to see Aziraphale looking at him with worried, soft eyes. His curls were a little wild where he’d run his fingers through them as they’d drank earlier, and there was a fleck of pastry sticking to his waistcoat as a reminder of the tart he’d so enjoyed. Crowley let out a slow breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, drinking in the sight of his angel whole and _alive_ in front of him. Relief surged through him and settled in his stomach, making him feel wrung out. He thought he might have to sleep for at least a week after the last few years.

“Sorry angel…” Crowley smiled, drawing his shoulders back and moving again. “S’all good, just tired I guess. Have you had a chance to look at all the new editions Adam graced you with?”

That had been the right thing to ask, just as he’d known. Aziraphale’s face lit up at the mention of his precious books, and they spent the remaining distance with the angel talking excitingly about the volumes he’d already seen and the ones he still hoped to find. The stopped in front of the door, pausing to face each other on the threshold.

Aziraphale’s face was happy and open, content in the way he could only be after a good meal and lost in his books. Crowley felt like a plant in the winter, starved of light until the first sun of spring breaks through the clouds. He wanted to bask in the warmth forever, perhaps sleep next to it like a nightlight. 

“Won’t you come in?” asked the angel, gesturing inside. Crowley paused on the threshold, torn between wanted to wrap himself up in the warmth of his friend and the need to sleep and recuperate. He suddenly wished he could sleep here, with him. Sleep on the sofa, or in the bed that Aziraphale never used with him near by fussing with his books and hot cocoa. To just have someone near him, a comforting presence. A warmth.

But that was ridiculous, he was being ridiculous. He had a flat, a bed with nice silk sheets and plants he needed to terrorise after the angel had now doubt coddled them whilst occupying his body. 

“You look tired…” Aziraphale breathed, making him jump out of your reverie. He was looking at him with concern in those light blue eyes, hand half outstretched as if to soothe away any discomfort. And there was something else in that gaze, something deep and heavy that he did not have the energy to analyse or understand.

“Yeah…” he admitted, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. “I’m probably going to go back to my flat and sleep.”

“You’ll… You’ll let me know when you wake up?” Aziraphale’s voice was almost tentative, as if he was afraid of overstepping the mark, and Crowley’s heart lurched in his chest.

“Course I will, Angel.” He smiled. “A week, tops. Then we can go to that little sushi place near St James’ you like so much.”

“Sushi!” the angel perked up slightly. “Oh yes, that does sound very agreeable. But… Be careful, my dear.”

“Now where would be the fun in that?” He grinned, patting him on the shoulder. “See you around!”

“Sleep well!”

Crowley sloped off back down the street, his legs steering him in the direction of his flat without any conscious thought. He could just snap his fingers and be back already, but this seemed easier somehow. His brain felt like an overstuffed cushion, and he didn’t want to end up transporting himself somewhere that was _not_ his flat (he’d done that before).

As he was about to turn the corner, he turned back for another glance at the bookshop to warm him on his journey home. It was still lit up and twinkling like the softest star, but as his eyes roved around the familiar edges something struck him as odd. He started at it for a few moments before noticing - the door, always closed and often locked, was stood wide open spilling light onto the pavement. Aziraphale was walking purposefully _away_ from his shop, chin in the air to something that was clearly happening on the other side of the road. The angel paused in the middle of the road, white hair glowing like a halo under the streetlights as he just stared at the person he was talking to. 

Crowley was looking around, trying to get his sluggish brain to catch up and make the connections, when it happened.

A car was speeding down the street, brakes squealing as it skidded out of control. Crowley had barely noticed it, eyes only for the angel, and as he was trying to get a better look at whatever Aziraphale was focusing on the car skidded into him with a sickening thud. 

Aziraphale was thrown in the air like a rag doll, the momentum catapulting him down the road into a crumbled heap.

“AZIRAPHALE!”

Crowley knew the car couldn’t hurt him, not really hurt him like it would a human, but that didn’t stop his heart lurching and his vision blurring bright white. They had no idea how Heaven would react if he was discorporated in their current situation. In a snap he was at his side, cradling the angel’s head in his lap. His hands flitted pointlessly over his body, panic screaming in his chest as he looked at the crumbled form in his arms. His legs were twisted in a strange way, scratches on his face and blood blooming into his hair turning it a sickly pink.

“Come on, angel, come on…” Crowley choked, shaking him slightly. “Why in heaven didn’t you move out of the way, you stupid stupid…”

He lay his head on his chest, partly to try and listen for a heartbeat but partly to keep him as close as possible. Then, for the second time that week, and only the second time in 6000 years, Crowley prayed.

_Please God, please save him… I’ll do anything, give you anything. He’s so good, Heaven don’t understand him. He’s good, he’s so so good…._

A tiny twitch, a breath and Aziraphale was suddenly alive in his arms.

_Thank you._

A dry heaving sob escaped him, all pretence in tatters. He clung to the angel for a few more seconds, needing to feel the rise and fall of his chest against his cheek, before he pulled himself up and his angel into his arms.

“Oh my God…” A woman approached them, phone pressed to her ear. “How is he? I’m on the phone to…”

She cut off as Crowley stared at her, keeping none of the horrors of his true form at bay, before holding Aziraphale close and walking into the bookshop. The door slammed back in her white terrified face, securing behind him with such force that the frame cracked. 

He lay him gently on the sofa, wincing as the angel’s head lolled onto his chest. Crowley quickly busied himself with checking his vital signs, taking a quick stock of the damage. A few broken bones, cracked ribs, trauma to the head… But still alive.

His miracles were a little off in his desperation, he knew he hadn’t repaired his leg quite right and he’d gone a little overboard on repairing his skull. Though at least if this happened again, the angel wouldn’t crack it quite so easily.

Just the thought made him want to vomit, and he bit down hard on his lower lip until he tasted blood. How had this happened? What could possibly have made Aziraphale have let himself get hit by a car? It made no sense. He lay a hand on the soft white curls, cleaning away the pink smears with a touch. He’d never seen Aziraphale asleep before, but he imagined this is how he looked. Peaceful, gentle. All tightness and worry smoothed from his face. He had such a ridiculous, expressive face. It was one of the things the demon had always loved about him, right from the first guilty confession that he’d given away his sword. It almost felt wrong to see it so smooth and still.

“Angel…” he murmured, stroking his cheek and watching his eyelids flutter with life.

He stared at down at his friend, his only friend, only _person,_ eyes burning. They’d escaped, and then this complete idiot just had to get himself hit by a car. And Crowley… Crowley hadn’t saved him. He’d almost lost him, again. Well, this time he wouldn’t leave his side for all the temptations in the world. He was going to stay right here, everything be damned.

“Ugh…”

Aziraphale stirred on the sofa, eyes clenched in pain as he started to come round. Crowley’s heart lurched painfully in his chest as he watched him come back to himself, and rocked backwards on his heels to give him more breathing room.

“Where… Where am I?” Aziraphale opened his eyes with a groan, looking around the place he’d found himself with confusion. His gaze landed on Crowley, and his eyes opened so comically wide that he had to hold back a smirk. “Oh!”

“Welcome back angel… You had me worried there for a moment.” He stood up in one fluid motion, the relief crashing into anger as his mind ran through all the possibilities that could have happened. He started to pace, unable to contain the burning emotions coursing through his pathetically human veins now he knew he was safe. “What the _hell_ were you thinking? Standing out in the road like that! You could have… You could have…”

“I… I was in the road?” Aziraphale’s mouth was hanging open as he stared at the demon pacing his bookshop like he’d never seen such a thing before. He patted himself as he sat up, wincing as his leg swung around stiffly. “Am I… Did I get hit?”

“Did you get hit? _Did you get hit?_ ” Crowley exploded, making his friend lurch backwards onto the sofa. “You got hit by a car, angel. A bloody car! I thought… What were you even doing in the middle of the road anyway you absolute idiot!”

“I…” he started, looking wildly around. Aziraphale gulped wetly, shaking hands coming to rest on his legs. “I…” He glanced up at Crowley with shimmering blue eyes, his gaze filled with an expression he hadn’t seen in decades. No, _millenia_. He looked lost, and frightened. Like a child. It knocked the wind out of his sails with a sure whoosh, and he wanted to wipe away that look so it would never dare enter the angel’s expression again.

“Look, I’m sorry, but after everything…” He sighed, collapsing on the sofa next to him with a little less finesse than usual. “And sorry about the leg, it looks stiff. I’m sure you’ll do a better job at fixing it. Just wanted to get you up and moving again.”

“My… Oh!” Aziraphale breathed, looking down at his legs. “You fixed me up!”

“I did.”

“And this…” He paused, to look around. “This is my home.”

“Er… Yep, this is your shop. Has been for… Oh, just shy of 200 years. You know, a rarely new purchase.”

“So you’re my friend?”

Crowley stared at him, completely nonplussed. “What are you blathering on about, angel?”

“Oh. Boyfriend?”

“ _What?”_

“Oh, oh dear me…” Aziraphale stared at him, hands clenching and unclenching nervously. He looked around the room like he was trying to find something, but his “I… I don’t mean to upset you, my dear. But… Who are you?”

Crowley’s world screeched to a halt.

The angel was staring at the demon, eyes wide and confused, and Crowley let the words absorb for a few seconds. No, he’d heard them correctly. He stared at the ball of anxiety in front of him, practically vibrating with nerves, and any words he tried to muster withered and died on his tongue. His heart, the silly human organ he didn’t technically need, was beating so hard in his chest he thought it might fly out. This had to be a joke, a little bit of excitement that Aziraphale had got carried away with. It had to be.

But the small voice screeching at the back of his mind knew that couldn’t be the case. The angel, _his_ angel, never looked at him like that. Never looked at him so blankly, so without warmth. Not since the beginning. And even then, that was for mere seconds. Not this endless, emotionless stare. The screeching in his mind built to a crescendo, bursting out of his skull with such force he thought for sure the whole world must hear it.

“Oh, I have upset you. Oh dear. I’m sorry. I think I must… You keep calling me angel, so I just assumed we must know each other you see. You say you saved me from being hit by a car? I mean, thank you. That mustn’t have been very pleasant.” He winced. “But I can’t seem to think clearly. Everything is all… Well, everything is all muddled.” He looked up at Crowley with wide pleading eyes, and it felt as though the bottom had just fallen out of the universe. “Who are you?”

“You don’t know who I am?” Crowley should have been embarrassed by how much his voice cracked, but he barely noticed it. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I… I don’t know.” He rubbed his white curls right where the pink stain had been, and the screeching in Crowley’s mind cranked up a notch. “I know I am Aziraphale. Something to do with a gate? Lots of people dressed in white. I…. Oh my dear me. I think I must have hit me head.”

“You don’t remember… You don’t remember _anything?_ Nothing in the history of the world?”

“Oh! History!” The word seemed to bring something to the other man’s face, not quite understanding but it wasn’t far off. “Yes, I remember lots about history. The great Pyramids, the plague, the first world war, Martin Luther King… Yes, I should say a fair bit about history.”

Crowley’s breath came out in a shudder, and he collapsed back onto the sofa with relief.

“But I still… I still don’t know your name.”

“You don’t know my name.” Crowley formed the words, but they didn’t really mean anything. The screeching was now taking over everything else, and he felt like he was stumbling through a dark world. Picking his way through hell in a blindfold. “But you remember. You said you remember history. Do you remember Rome? French Revolution? Bloody _Shakespeare_?” His voice was hard, and he hated the way Aziraphale flinched away from him. But he didn’t have time for pleasantries, he had to know _._ “The Blitz? Eden?”

“I don’t quite understand….”

“ _Tell me.”_ Crowley lent forward to grip his lapels, pushing Aziraphale back into the sofa cushions. “Tell you remember something of the last 6000 years…” _Of me,_ was the silent plea, _please tell me you remember something of me._

Aziraphale gasped, arching his body away from Crowley’s. As he tried to twist out of his grip, Crowley saw flashes of something like fear deep in those familiar blue eyes. On instinct Crowley glanced behind him, ready to take on whatever danger was coming up to threaten them with a snarl of fury. 

The shop was empty. He released the struggling Aziraphale slowly, slithering off the sofa to stand a safe distance against one of the bookcases. The angel was curled protectively in on himself on one side of the sofa, hands clenched and face terrified. A shard of ice settled deep under his breastbone, and he was sure it would crack and crumble into his lungs. He’d been a demon for millennia, inspired fear and discord amongst thousands. He was the original tempter, boiled other demons, stopped Armageddon, that poor woman outside who’d only wanted to help… Countless people had looked at him with that face, and probably would again.

But not Aziraphale. Never Aziraphale.

He clutched the bookcase with both hands, afraid he’d fall as his world was ripped away. The fear and blankness in Aziraphale’s eyes was real. He had no idea who Crowley was, or even who he was. The person who he’d shared his existence with, the one constant who was always a snap away, was gone. And a sickening blank reminder stood in his place.

This was worse than Armageddon. Worse than the burning bookshop, worse than the 14th century, worse than burning Bentleys.

Worse than Falling.

“I’m sorry…” Crowley managed, not being able to rip his eyes away from the way Aziraphale was cowering in front of him. Was he falling again? It felt the same – the desperate freefall, a beloved face looking blankly on as he scrambled to anything he could cling to. He drew every last part of himself inward, and forced his brain to come up with something to try and wipe that awful look away. “Sorry, thought a good shock might get that memory going. I’m… No one. Not your friend or anything.” The words cut on their way out, and he was suddenly immeasurably glad he was still wearing his glasses as wetness pricked the corners of his eyes. “Just trying to help.”

“Oh…” Aziraphale gulped and pulled himself up, but his hands were still shaking slightly in his lap. “And the angel?”

“Purely descriptive.” Shrugged Crowley.

“Descriptive?” he frowned. “Like, I’m a good person?”

“No, like…” Crowley paused, taking in the wrinkled brow and blankness of his expression. What _was_ this? This was much more than a car accident. This was Aziraphale stripped of his memories, both of Crowley and, apparently, of angels. Of what they’d done together, of all the choices that made him _Aziraphale._ This wasn’t just back luck, this was _evil._

Which meant someone was responsible.

“Yes,” Crowley amended softly. “You’re a good person.”

“Oh, well… Thank you.” A small smile, a tiny flicker of angel flashed beyond the void. “You must be too, to save me and fix me up so well. A true angel, to use you terminology. How can I ever repay you?”

Crowley thought he might be sick. He ran his eyes over his friend’s form behind the glasses, cataloguing everything in front of him. Not that he needed to, he could already conjure him in perfect detail, but it bought him a few extra seconds before he had to do the thing he’d promised himself he wouldn’t.

“My card…” Crowley held out a business card he’d just willed into existence. “Call me if you need anything. I hope you get your memoires back.”

He wouldn’t need to call, not really. As soon as his fingers enclosed around the card, Crowley would know if he was in any danger. It was something he should have done years ago, centuries ago. It would have made the Blitz a whole lot easier.

But now he had to leave the angel at his most vulnerable, to save him. Someone was responsible for this, and by God was he going to find out and make them pay. 

“Anthony J. Crowley…” Aziraphale murmured, running his fingers over the name. He looked up, and Crowley’s resolve very nearly crumbled into ash. “A nice name.”

“Thanks, angel.” He smiled, far too gentle. “I’m sure you need to rest.”

“I.. Yes, I suppose… Thank you, again. For saving me.”

Crowley nodded, and heaved himself away from the bookcase. He ran his eyes over almost-Aziraphale one last time, before swinging around and heading out of the shop into the night air. Running his hands over the doorframe to repair the damage he’d made earlier, he sent tendrils of himself into the wood to watch over and protect. Sucking in a deep breath that he didn’t need and leaving the best part of him in the shop, set off down the now deserted street with a snarl.

He was going to get him back.

And _somebody_ help anyone who dared to stand in his way.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: I know literally nothing about how memories work. Enjoy!  
> Stick with me, we're laying down the groundwork. It's all up from here (sort of).

Aziraphale paced around the bookshop, pulling books from their shelves and flicking through the pages with unseeing eyes. He was trying his best not to panic, but he didn’t think he was achieving more than delaying a full-on melt down for a few more minutes.

The whole world was wrong. 

It was like someone had scooped large parts of his memory out with a spoon and left random, unconnected parts to try and thread his life together. He could remember the entire history of Egypt with the sharp clarity of being there, but couldn’t remember anything about the last year. There were vague jumbled memories about certain bakeries he’d visited, he could have drawn a map to his tailor with his eyes closed. But everything else, any friends, any job or connections… Was just blank.

Except the books. The stories between these pages, the knowledge they presented was woven into his veins in a way that he didn’t think could be ripped from his memory. He’d encountered a few gaps – large chunks of romance, books about botany and reptiles, everything by Shakespeare, most of The Bible… The last two he don’t know how he could of missed them. The bookshops had great shelves heaving with copies, different editions, different versions… He doubted he’d read everything but them.

Yet that seemed to be the case. 

The shop itself was the same. At first glance he didn’t seem to remember any of it, this place that felt so much like a reflection, then would walk past a random stack, or a small part of the back room, and memories would flood back. Everything else drew a blank, like staring into the void.

He sank down onto the floor, clutching a particularly beautifully bound copy of Hamlet by William Shakespeare. It felt weird to hold it, his mind rebelled against the idea of it existing in his hands, but for some reason that made him cling on to it tighter. He had shelves dedicated to the author, numerous works piled high spanning the last few hundred years. Yet, amongst all those tales, Hamlet stood out as a clear favourite. He had 102 different copies of the play. He’d counted them, just to make sure. Who has 102 copies of a play they didn’t remember? Of a writer they’d barely heard of? Then for some reason seemed to have the entire plot to The Country Diary of an Edwardian Lady, The Hobbit and The Economic Consequences of the Peace engraved in his brain.

His fingers were absentmindedly running over the cover of the book in front of him, not able to shake the idea that it was important somehow. That a lot of what he couldn’t remember was important. Because otherwise…. Aziraphale let out a deep sigh. Well, because otherwise what was his life but a few old stories, eating in restaurants alone and some heavy sense of duty to a job he couldn’t remember?

Then there was the man. Anthony J. Crowley. The card was on the top of the book, corners already crinkled slightly with the amount of times Aziraphale had run his fingers over the words. He couldn’t explain it, but when he’d opened his eyes on the sofa and saw the redheaded stranger bent over him with sunglasses on in the dark shop he hadn’t been afraid, not even a bit. He’d looked into the face of angles and shadows and the first thing he’d thought was – _oh, I’m safe now._

He had to be a doctor, some sort of healer. Aziraphale had done the checks on his body and somehow, despite the fact he’d apparently been hit by a car, the only thing he had to show for it was a slightly stiff leg. Surely, that couldn’t be the case? Even a doctor wouldn’t be able to heal him that quickly. And then there was everything that followed, the shouting, the blaming, being called _angel._ Then had come the fear, when this handsome stranger was snarling in his face and shouting at him to remember. The man, _Anthony,_ said it had been a test - a shock to make him think. Which sort of made sense, if they’d been in a terrible movie, but… Something was not right. Especially because when he thought about it, whilst he had been afraid and shocked he had never for one moment thought the man was going to hurt him. What had frightened him was when the man had gripped him close and shouted in his face, Aziraphale’s mind had gaped open like a black hole and _shoved_ him backwards. 

“I think I’m going mad…” he muttered, though no one else was there to hear him (which really just proved his point). He heaved himself off the floor, book and card still clutched in his hands, and started to pace the length of the shop. His feet led him to a tiny kitchen tucked behind a particularly laden stack of what claimed to be encyclopaedias (that didn’t ring any bells), and almost on instinct he reached up to grab a small white mug from the shelf.

He paused to stare at it, the tiny white wings making him smile though he didn’t know why. He’d known where that cup was, or at least his _hands_ knew where that cup was. He reached up again, and pulled down the only other cup on the shelf. This one was black, with a long creature curling around the bottom and arching up to create a handle. It’s little face was positively adorable, and Aziraphale stared happily at it for a few moments before laying it down on the counter with a gentle stroke to it’s ceramic head. It looked a bit like an eel without any fins, but for the life of him he couldn’t put a name to the little creature. Every time he tried it was like staring into gaping blackness again, and his mind pushed him away from the feeling. It was jarring and made him feel slightly sick, just the effort of looking at it was immense.

But it did give him an idea.

* * * * * *

Six hours later the sun was shining over the bookshop, but Aziraphale hadn’t noticed. He now had an ever-growing pile of items haphazardly stacked around his desk and on the floor, grouped in strange stacks or neat little rows. It started with the mugs and the copies of Hamlet. He’d gone around the bookshop, running his hands over spines, picking up boxes, until the gaping void in his memory opened like he didn’t want to think about what he was holding. Slowly, he’d added more books to the piles – a handful on prophecies, a book on gardening, a few bibles, The Monk, Frankenstein, a particularly gaudy The Count of Monet Cristo, Hans Christian Anderson’s fairy tales. There were others he’d considered, but they didn’t quite have the same _push_ as these volumes. Something about them was off, and so he collected them in his arms and surrounded himself with piles of them.

As time stretched on, he ventured into other areas of the shop, adding items to his bizarre collection as he went. Bottles of wine, a silk cushion of deep golden yellow, a wooden statue of a duck, a little fake umbrella he found sticking out of a typewriter under the desk. The items didn’t seem to make any sense or be related other than his reaction to them, but he kept collecting hoping something, _anything,_ would help him make sense of this madness. Because, well, he didn’t have any other ideas.

He’d just finished dragging the sofa around to push it next to his desk, no mean feat on your own around a very full bookshop, when someone started incessantly banging on the door of the shop. “We’re closed!” he shouted, running his hands over the a golden ornate clock he’d found upstairs next to a dusty old bed he didn’t remember (but didn’t think worth taking down). The banging just continued even louder, and he could hear someone calling something through the wood. Sighing, he marched over and to pull the door open and demand who ever it was to _go away_. But when he got to the door he pulled up short, the whole door was a strange abyss in his mind, like he didn’t want to look at it. He ran his hands over the wood, static electricity running through his fingertips, but the consistent banging on the other side pulled him out of his reverie. 

_“Yes?_ ” he snapped, glaring at the little balding man standing on the threshold. “I said we’re closed!”

“Oh, er… Good morning. Mr Fell, is it? I’m Mr Langley. We had an appointment?”

“We did?” The man nodded, holding out a small box in his hands as a way of explanation, and Aziraphale tried to pull himself together. “Very sorry my dear man, I’m all out of sorts today. Won’t you come in?”

Aziraphale led the way through the shop into the back room, giving a wide berth to the paraphernalia piled around the desk.

“I, erm, am having a bit of a spring clean.” Said Aziraphale as a way of explanation when he saw the man staring at the stacked books and items. “Won’t you come into the back?”

They bundled into the small room off the back of the bookshop, and he turned to survey the little man in front of him and watched him lay the small box on the table. They both looked at it expectantly for a few moments until Aziraphale realised he was meant to open it, and leant forward to take it in his hands.

“Oh!”

Nestled inside the box was a gold ring. At first glance it was patterned and twisted in on itself, circling round with two tiny diamonds at the crest. It was beautiful. But just in looking at it, he could feel the wave of the emptiness pushing him away. He gripped it tighter, staring down to get a better look at the details and try and reach past the chasm in his mind. But it was no use. He realised it was a scaled creature worn to encircle the finger, the diamonds glinting as it’s eyes whilst the tail was gripped in the mouth to create a circle. The same creature as on the cup in his kitchen!

“This creature!” cried Aziraphale, brandishing the box towards the little man who drew back in alarm. “What is it? What is it called?”

“The ouroboros?”

“Ouroboros….” He rolled the word around his mouth, but it didn’t feel right. No void, no blackness, no push at all. “Does it go by any other name?”

“Well, as you asked for, it’s serpent eating its own tail.”

_Serpent._

The word struck Aziraphale to the core – throwing him into the blackness and letting him fall down, down, down… He stumbled forward and gripped the table, the box and ring skittering out of his hand so the other man had to catch it.

“Mr Fell!” he cried, reaching out to steady him. “Are you unwell? Can I call someone?”

“No…” he choked, taking a deep shuddering breath and gripping the table more tightly. The wood crumbled and splintered under his fingers and he jerked away, shocked at his own strength. There were finger gouges in what was once smooth wood, a perfectly polished 18th French writing table now scared by his own hands. He glanced up at the other man who was staring at him with what could only be described as horror, before rushing out of the room.

He stumbled blindly through the shop, taking wrong turns and tripping over piles of books he should have expected. Fear, rage and confusion are waring in his head and he thinks it might split, might break out of this tiny body into something immense and terrifying.

He finally found the door, the black chasm in his mind that somehow leads outside, and almost threw himself across the threshold and into the street. The brightness seared against his retinas, so contrasting the emptiness that he’d been chasing for the last few hours that he could do nothing but stare ahead of him.

The street was bustling with people, traffic crept along the road, electricity hummed over their heads. An ordinary London day.

He sucked in a series of deep breaths as he looked out at the scene in front of him, slowly regaining a little bit of self-awareness. As he did, he felt a strange sort of uncomfortable static in the base of his spine, like a predatory was watching him. 

Aziraphale turned to see a tall, broad man in an impeccable suit and cashmere scarf staring up at the bookshop. He looked vaguely familiar… Maybe a regular at the shop? An acquaintance? Aziraphale wasn’t sure. What he was sure, though he had no idea how, was that he did _not_ like him.

“Aziraphale!”

So they did know each other. The man was smiling at him, but his eyes were blank and cold.

“Erm, hello?” Aziraphale smiled politely, forcing down the instinct to recoil. “Can I help you?”

“Oh, erm…” The man looked surprised. “Just checking in, after… Well, after the hellfire. The Apocalypse. The Anti-Christ!”

Aziraphale stared at him. “The… The _what_?” Something vague clicked with the sounds of his voice, and he had an odd flash of memory of the man in front of him in white robes giving him orders. Gabriel! Of course Gabriel. “Oh, we work together!”

“We… We sort of do, yeah…” Gabriel was staring at him, eyes narrowed as if trying to tease a meaning for his words. “Well, not on the same level or anything. But… Technically we’re the same. Sort of.”

“Yes…” Aziraphale frowned. “Am I supposed to have a work assignment? I don’t know anything about… What did you say? The apocalypse?” Aziraphale felt the now familiar chasm in his brain, and grasped it with both hands but to no avail. “Can you explain? I’m a little… Out of sorts. Had a little accident with a car yesterday. I’m sure I’ll be as right as rain soon and back to.. Well, doing the things we do.”

“Car… Oh yes, the silly metal boxes?”

“I’m quite alright, someone patched me up. Anthony Crowley, do you know him?”

“Crowley?” Gabriel just looked at him. His eyes, almost purple, seemed to bore deep into his very soul. “No. No, _no._ That demon… He doesn’t work with us.”

“Oh, well… That’s a shame.” Aziraphale frowned. “Apologies.”

A slow smile was started to grow on Gabriel’s face, and Aziraphale didn’t like it one bit. “Well, you get back to your... _Bookshop_. Don’t worry about a thing. We’ll be in touch.”

“Oh, well… Yes, ok then.”

He watched him go, a trickle of dread creeping down his spine at their exchange. He did not trust Gabriel. Not at all.

“Pull yourself together old boy…” Aziraphale whispered to himself, clenching and unclenching his hands nervously as his work associate disappeared down the street. As his eyes followed the sharp suit, the shop door banged open as the little man with the ring burst out of the shop.

“Mr Fell, here you are!” Mr Langley looked a little relieved to see him, and patted him gently on the arm. “Getting some air? You look like you need it. I need to head to another appointment, but I’ve left the ring in your back room. If there’s any problems, please let me know. Ok?”

“Ok…” Aziraphale nodded, his mind immediately consumed by the idea of the small golden creature circled around on itself. “Thank you, thank you Mr Langley.”

“Good day!”  
He trotted off down the street, leaving Aziraphale to watch him. As he turned to go back inside the strange haven of the shop, he felt another stab of static up his spine. He whipped his head around, trying to find the source. Unlike with Gabriel, this was warm, almost comforting. Was someone he knew nearby? He searched the streets, but to no avail. There was nothing – no familiarity, no gaping void. Nothing.

The static faded, easing out of his body like an old record, leaving Aziraphale slumped against the window of his doorframe worn out and empty. It was suddenly too much. Too much excitement, too much unknown, too many questions. What was he supposed to do with this? Who was going to help him out of this ridiculous mess?

All he wanted to do was sit quietly with his books. Was that really too much to ask?

_Meanwhile in Heaven:_

Michael stood gazing out of the window across the earth, still inwardly seething at the lack of battle below. She’s been staring at that exact spot for… Well, she hadn’t exactly been counting. But the righteous rage had not ceased.

Gabriel materialised in front of her with a chime, a wide grin plastered across his face.

“Why are you so cheerful?”

“A _very_ interesting development.”

“Given the last few days, I think they highly unlikely Gabriel…”

“Oh no, you’ll love this, trust me.” His smile was almost manic now. “I’ve just been to check on the principality.”

“ _Aziraphale?_ I doubt this will be good news.” Michael folded her arms, eyes hard. “I’ve no doubt he’s already got back those pesky memories? I saw the demon save him, it was sickening.”

“No, it’s even better than we imagined…. He doesn’t remember _anything._ I could tell. No demon, no Apocalypse… He doesn’t even remember that he’s an angel. Or _Her._ ”

“ _Oh.”_

“Exactly. I mean, he was always a terrible angel, but this! We won’t have to deal with him anymore, and now he’ll just fall sooner rather than later and save us all the trouble.”

The stood in silence for a few seconds, until something dawned on Michael. She mulled it over, excitement rising in her breast to replace the cold rage that had embedded itself deep in her heart since she’d gone to retrieve that holy water.

“Gabriel…” she breathed. “I think you’ve missed something rather big.”

“Me? I mean, maybe, but I doubt it. You think he’s got his memory back already? That it’s a trick”

“No no… If Aziraphale has truly forgotten everything about being an angel… Well, then we could…” she leant forward, checking no one was around. “Get rid of him once and for all.”

“Get rid… Oh!” Gabriel’s eyes widened. He paused for a few moments, before an answering smile lit up his face. “I mean, of course we couldn’t actually do anything harmful to our poor fallen brother. Though if he were to be unfortunately discorporate and brought back to towards the light… We’re only working for the greater good, after all.”

“I’ll call…” she glanced downwards. “Our associates. See if they can help.”

“We don’t have associates.”

“Of course we don’t.” grinned Michael. 


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for some brooding drunk demon!  
> Next few chapters are a lot more action packed, so enjoy some introspection and pining whilst you can.

There was a reason Crowley had been the Serpent of Eden - the same reason he’d been placed on Earth for millennia, the same reason he’d been chosen to deliver the Antichrist.  
Demons, and angels as they were really all the same original stock, didn’t really have much imagination or flair for the dramatic. Crowley was the exception. So despite the fact he doubted they had the skills to pull off whatever was wrong with the angel, he needed to check in with head office.  
Strutting into Hell like you own the place, especially when everyone knew you really didn’t, required exactly that. He’d made his way downstairs through one of the back doors, bypassing the demons thronging about in the main corridors and not drawing anyone’s attention. The rest was just flash – the usual strut, bored expression, an occasional wink to make them uncomfortable. Those who he did pass scuttled away, and he had really fight to keep the smile off his face. Aziraphale must have really put on a show to get them this riled; he wished he could have seen it.  
“Hey there Hastur…” he stopped behind the duke of hell, finally allowing himself a grin as the other demon leapt up like he’d just been bitten.  
“C-Crowley? What are you doing here?”  
“Hmm, yesss…” Crowley leant across the desk, resting his chin on a hand and taking great pleasure in Hastur jerking backwards away from him. “I thought a quick… Check in might be in order.”  
“C-Check in?”  
“Well, after the little incident with Holy Water…” Crowley paused to let his smirk grow wider. “I thought we all agreed that I should be left alone in future.”  
“We have.” Said Hastur dumbly.  
“No punishments hiding in the shadows?” he asked softly. “No surprises waiting for me? Because if there is, Hastur, I can always… Refresh your memory.” The Duke of Hell just stared at him, and Crowley sighed and stood up. “Really? Nothing? Well, Ok. I didn’t want to have to do this…”  
Crowley pulled a small bottle out of his pocket and lay it on the desk. They both stared at it, until Crowley slowly turned the bottle around to reveal the label reading ‘Holy Water’.  
“You’re bluffing again!” Hastur cried, but he couldn’t stop the instinctive stumble backwards. His eyes widened with fear as he watched Crowley finger the bottle, playing with the cap to make it click loudly.  
“Are you certain I was bluffing last time?”  
Silence surrounded them as Hastur stared at the little bottle on the table, eyes wide. After a few moments, he took another shuffling step back. “What do you want?”  
“As I said, just checking in.” He peered over his glasses. “I don’t want any surprises.”  
“One day, I will get you Crowley…” Hastur snarled. “You and that little freaky angel won’t get away with this. I’ll make you pay!”  
That cinched it. For lack imagination also meant that demons were terrible at lying and empty threats. If Hastur knew anything about Aziraphale, he wouldn’t have been able to resist rubbing it in his face this long.  
“Well, I look forward to it.” Crowley pocketed the small bottle with a wink. “But until then, Ciao Hastur!”  
He sauntered back down the corridor away from him, now only focused on getting back out of Hell as quickly as possible. He needed a new plan.  
But first – some alcohol.  
He collapsed back on the bench in St James’s Park, hands reaching for the bottle of whisky that until that moment had been tucked away safely in his flat. He took a long, deep swig, half of the bottle pouring down his gullet in one rush. He’d bought it for Aziraphale, had intended to take it round to the shop when he’d woken from his nap. Crowley could picture his pleased face with sharp clarity, the happy little sigh he would do after he’d taken his first sip and the way he’d thank him, a wily demon, with such ridiculous sincerity that he’d have to tell him to shut it or he might crumble. They’d spend the night savouring it, bickering and reminiscing until the sun came up. Crowley would rant about something and Aziraphale would watch him, occasionally scandalised but always fond. The angel might read to him whilst he complained but secretly enjoyed it. He’d lounge on the sofa with Aziraphale on the chair, possibly listen to some music, just the two of them with the rest of the world and Heaven and Hell all outside. Their own side. It would have been perfect.  
And now, and now….  
Crowley gulped down a bit more of the whisky, savouring the warmth as he stared out onto the darkened water.  
He’d loved Aziraphale for as long as he could remember. He’d only realised it with Hamlet, his miracle being a little too strenuous with the need to impress the angel, but the feeling had been there eons before that. So he took care of his angel, bought him presents, spent time at his shop. That was enough, far more than he’d ever imagined, to just live happily alongside his best friend.  
And Crowley knew that he was loved in return. He’d seen it in the way he’d looked at him after The Blitz and those bloody books, the way he’d caught him watching him hundreds of times since, could feel the way he gave him his entire attention when they were together. It wasn’t something that needed to be put into words – that wasn’t them. What they had instead was far bigger than that, so much more than a little four-letter word. Plus, angels could literally feel love and Crowley, to his eternal distaste, knew he was giving it off in waves.  
The alcohol was making his head swirl, and he lay back against the bench to let the first light of morning cast its rays over his face. They were finally, finally, going to be allowed to just be together, to get some bloody peace and quiet, and it had been snatched away from them. Again. He rubbed his face, knocking his glasses onto the floor but not being able to bring himself to care. Instead, he drained the rest of the bottle, making sure he was well and truly drunk but not enough that he couldn’t sober up in an instance if he needed to. If Aziraphale needed him to.  
His mind drifted back to the shop, to where he knew Aziraphale was safely tucked inside. Had it only been a few hours since he’d left? It felt like an eternity. He ached to see him, to soak in the ridiculous bow tie, his bright smile, the soft white curls that hadn’t changed since Eden.  
He was perfectly happy with how things had been between them – to love and be loved in return, was that how it went? It was more than he could have hoped.  
But occasionally, in the lonely early hours of the morning or when he’d had just the right amount to drink, he thought about touching the angel.  
They touched, of course they did. Hands brushing to pass a bottle, grips to the arm, the occasional shove against a wall when he forgot himself. Crowley couldn’t help it, he was a hands-on sort of guy. Demons often were – pressed together in hell it was often the only way to be heard, or the only way to get the job one. Sometimes he got caught up in the moment and touched, grabbed, manhandled. It was in his nature.  
Angels, on the other hand, were not like that. Heaven was a great gaping space, so they never needed to be near, well, anyone. And Aziraphale was, in most ways, still an angel. He might have packed his shop to the rafters, might have surrounded himself with books and clutter, but he rarely touched anyone. And mostly drew away when Crowley tried.  
So Crowley kept the tiny box of physical touch tightly closed in the back of his mind. It generally lay forgotten and dusty, no need to go near something when you already had even more than you should be allowed to hope for. But now he could feel the lid opening, the memory of his cheek rested against the rise and fall of Aziraphale’s chest, the softness of his curls under his fingertips. Of what it might be like to bury his hands deep in his hair, press his face into his neck, feel the warmth of his skin under his hands…  
A strange jolt of electricity pulled him out of his drunken revelling, and he slammed the box tightly shut with a shake of his head. Something was wrong. Something or someone was trying to get into Aziraphale’s shop, and Crowley’s protective demon presence in the entryway was stopping them.  
Which only meant that whatever was trying to get in was intending to cause harm.  
With a sickening lurch, he felt Aziraphale’s presence leave the sanctuary of the shop and Crowley’s protection. Right where danger was waiting for him. He was on the street in an instant, swaying as the whisky churned in his bloodstream and looking wildly around for the source of the danger.  
Gabriel was outside the shop, talking to a flustered and confused looking Aziraphale with his usual smug smile plastered on his stupid face.  
That bastard.  
He moved to run forward, to grab Aziraphale from the clutches of the archangel, but stumbled in his drunken rush and tripped over the uneven pavement. Cursing furiously, he sobered up with a shudder and launched himself off the floor with only the instinct to protect ringing in his ears.  
But Gabriel was already walking away, leaving Aziraphale whole and safe by the bookshop and Crowley stumbled to a stop in the middle of the road. More than anything he wanted to rush over to check on his friend, to see what poison Gabriel had spouted in his ear. But a rare flash of sense kept him at a distance. He couldn’t overwhelm Aziraphale, he still didn’t know what had actually happened to him or what damage could be done. Besides, he didn’t trust Gabriel. He hated the smug bastard.  
He couldn’t just barge into heaven like he had hell, even he knew there’d consequences to that. But if Hell wasn’t responsible, that didn’t leave many options. Crowley just needed to work out a plan.

  
* * * * * *

Trying to conduct a plan to save your best friend was made all the more difficult when that friend was a complete and utter idiot.  
Crowley had followed Gabriel for a few paces before the Archangel disappeared. He couldn’t feel any other presence and so, with no other idea of what to do, went back to his flat to plan what to try next.  
He’d been home for a few hours, full demonic rant to himself underway, when he felt it.  
Aziraphale had left the shop. Again.  
Sighing, he abandoned his plans and ran downstairs to the Bentley, not wanting to suddenly appear and startle him. He drove around for a while looking for him, following his vague presence until he spotted the familiar bow tie getting off a bus near Regents Park. He abandoned the Bentley to follow him, and stood to stare as he watched Aziraphale cross the road and walk towards London Zoo.  
Crowley didn’t like zoos.  
They’d been a completely human invention, no demonic intervention needed when it came to cages. He had been behind a few of the animal rights movements in the 70s, students were so easy to rile towards a cause, which seemed to have the desirable impact. If there also happened to be a few major laws changed out of the blue at the same time, well, no one seemed to notice.  
He followed Aziraphale at a distance as he wandered around, occasionally stopping to view a particularly fluffy creature or read some sign. He stopped for a few minutes to talk to a man selling ice creams, eventually coming away with a 99 and staring at it a miracle.  
Crowley couldn’t help but smile as he watched Aziraphale stand in the middle of a busy zoo, slowly licking his ice cream with his eyes tightly shut. Families parted around him, the cleaner swept near his feet as he just stood, totally engrossed in his treat. Crowley thought the zoo might catch on fire and he wouldn’t notice, which would have been like any other day until Aziraphale opened his eyes, dropped his ice cream with a gasp and half run towards the building in front of them.  
Crowley stopped in front of the doors as Aziraphale vanished inside. The Reptile House? What could he want in there? Slowly, he followed his friend, more careful to keep a distance between them in such proximity. The angel kept nervously glancing over his shoulder like he thought someone might be watching, but eventually stopped in front of one of the largest enclosures at the centre of the room – The king cobra.  
“King cobra…” Aziraphale read aloud, his voice now carrying easily over the almost empty room. He stared up at the information, reading through and mouthing the words. His eyes kept flicking to the large snake snoozing in one of the corners, black scales coiled in on itself.  
“King Cobra…” repeated Aziraphale, looking directly at the creature as if talking to it. Crowley watched, brow furrowed, as his friend almost pressed himself against the glass for a better look. “No, that’s fine… Elapid? A little reaction. Nothing big. Snake? Oh. Oh yes.” He was nodding to himself, or to the snake, words almost tumbling from him. “So… Snake. Yes. And so what about… Serpent.”  
The word hit Crowley squarely in the solar plexus, the force almost making him physically recoil. Aziraphale seemed to have a similar reaction, stumbling and catching himself on the frame of the enclosure. Crowley watched, sickened, as he pulled himself up again, looking shaken but determined and stared back at the sleeping snake. Crowley didn’t understand, didn’t know what the hell was going on. Why was Aziraphale in the reptile house babbling to a king cobra? Listing off synonyms for snake? Saying serpent like it didn’t mean anything? Nothing didn’t make sense. He watched dumbly from the shadows as Aziraphale repeated the process, this time clutching the frame before his ramblings as if to prepare for a fall.  
A fall.  
Was Aziraphale Falling?  
Crowley shifted as his wings itched in their own dimension, the memory of burning never truly leaving him. No angels had fallen for centuries, for millennium. Not since Crowley’s day. Was it still the same process now? Was it still a freefall through the atmosphere into the burning pits of hell? Or was it slower?  
He shook his head, trying to expel the seed of worry that was starting to take root. He could feel Aziraphale’s angelic presence, as untouched as always. His grace was unblemished. Whatever this was, it didn’t look like falling. Beside, the falling don’t stop to talk to snakes or enjoy ice creams at the zoo. No, this… Whatever this was, this was something else.  
Finally, Aziraphale stopped repeating the same few words and moved away from the king cobra to walk around the rest of the reptile house. He looked pale and strained, worn in a way an angel should never have to look. Crowley desperately wanted to go over, to be a comforting presence at his friend’s side. To watch him struggle alone, stumble through the day in such confusion, was torture. It was his job to protect him. Call it caring, call it acts of service, it all boiled down to the same point. Aziraphale was put on the Earth to look after everyone, but who was there to look after him? Instead, Crowley watched from the shadows he assumed would be long enough to hide him until they were.  
The angel walked slowly, stopping to stare at each snake he came across and occasionally repeating the same two words – snake, serpent.  
This had to be torture. It had to be. He never escaped hell, was just trapped in some pit reliving this awful nightmare. The hear Aziraphale say serpent, the word he kept just for him, in such a blank and detached way… To have him not know him. Not know himself! It was too much. If Hell had an ounce of creativity, he’d have believed it. Instead, he was just stuck with the ghost of his friend muttering at reptiles in a zoo and no clue as to why.  
Crowley pushed himself from the wall and skulked around the edge of the room as the angel made his way to the exit, sound pouring into the room as he opened the doors to outside. He gave a glance over his shoulder, making Crowley jump back behind a pillar, before heading out into the sunshine.  
A loud crack rang through the courtyard, then another. Crowley leapt through the door without thinking, throwing himself on Aziraphale’s retreating back. They crumpled to the ground, just in time for him to feel the rush of a bullet over their heads.  
“Stay down!” barked Crowley, using most of his strength to pin the angel on the ground. He knew he could never compare in a fair combat, but the confused and frightened angel seemed to submit readily enough.  
He raised his head to stare around, trying to focus through the screams of terror echoing around the courtyard. It didn’t take him long to spot him. A dazed gunman was standing near one of the benches, eyes glassy and rifle pointed straight ahead towards the Reptile House.  
With a click, Crowley removed the remaining two bullets from the gun, and when the idiot failed to fire anymore two conveniently nearby security guards tackled him to the ground.  
He let out the breath he’d been holding in a rush, rolling off Aziraphale and closing his eyes for a moment in thanks. If he hadn’t been here… He shuddered. It was too much to even think about.  
“Are you… Oh!” Aziraphale had pushed himself from the ground, and was staring at Crowley with his mouth hanging open. His face and jacket were streaked with mud, and Crowley made a vow to miracle the stain away when the angel wasn’t looking.  
“Are you hurt?” Crowley demanded, eyes roving around Aziraphale to check from harm. He couldn’t see anything, but he needed to know.  
“It’s you.”  
“Are you hurt?”  
“Oh… No, I don’t think so.”  
He shuddered with relief, then jumped to his feet. The gunman was being carted off into the main part of the zoo, his gun in the hands of one of the guards. Three bullets were embedded into the Reptile House, but there was no blood spilt, no death.  
“You’re here…” Aziraphale was staring up at him, and Crowley felt the lost look deep in his immortal soul. “You saved me.”  
“Don’t harp on about it angel.” The instinctive retort burst from his lips before he could stop, and he bit the inside of his mouth to shut up.  
“Angel… You said that last time.” His eyes were wide and empty, but the confused furrow in his brow was familiar. “That I was an angel, that an angel is a good person.”  
“Some angels…” breathed Crowley, hands clenched. “You need to go back to the bookshop.”  
“But I… What?”  
“You. Need. To. Go. Back. To. The. Bookshop.” He spat the words slowly, lips pulling back into a snarl. “Now.”  
He turned on his heel to storm away, ignoring the angel’s pleas for him to stay and rounded the corner to disappear from view. He wasn't sure what his presence would do, if anyone was wtahcing them. So instead he waited, hidden amongst the trees as he watched Aziraphale search for him, heart aching. The angel eventually gave in and slumped in a park bench, coat and face still streaked with mud. There he sat for the next hour, staring ahead of him with unseeing eyes, ignored by the investigating officers and zoo staff milling around. Crowley lessened the stain slightly on his coat, the rest should come out with water, but didn't dare risk anything else. Then, without warning or change in expression, Aziraphale got up and walked slowly back out of the zoo and back onto the street. Crowley followed, keeping well back and out of sight until the dirty battered angel stumbled through into the haven of his bookshop.  
But this time, Crowley wasn’t going anywhere.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a busy old chapter that somehow didn't feel right to split. Buckle up!

“So what you’re telling me, is that the principality escaped.” Gabriel was staring down at Dagon, eyes bulging with poorly concealed rage. “He escaped _again_?”

They were standing on the deck of a cruise ship deep in the Atlantic, the crew and passengers all suddenly wanting to remain in their cabins. It was risky, being so out in the open like this, but Gabriel was sure She wouldn’t object. He _was_ doing her work, after all.

Dagon shrugged. “It was the demon Crowley… We can’t seem to stop him. He just keeps getting in the way.”

“Getting in the way...” Gabriel leant forward, voice low and level. “You have the whole of hell, and you _can’t stop one demon?_ ”

He took a deep shuddering breath, pulling himself together. It was just one pesky little creature. One stupid rogue not-quite angel. What did he even matter? They’d get him eventually, they were _real angels_ after all. They would always win. But trying to discorporate something with a demonic nanny was proving to be a little more difficult than anticipated.

“Well, we’re confident in our next plan…” Dagon continued with a nod. “A smarter one, this time. No pianos. We’re going to hit him with a crowbar!”

“A crowbar?”

“Yes! Hit him hard, blood and brain everywhere. Crowley can’t get in the way of a crowbar, can he? It will be glorious!”

“And…” Gabriel closed his eyes briefly, steeling himself for the stupidity that was about to come barrelling his way. “And where is this… Crowbar attack take place?”

“The park. They love the park!”

It was worse than he’d imagined.

“You idiot, he lost his memories! He doesn’t remember he loves the park!” burst Gabriel, pulling a face at the ridiculous demon in front of him.

“Oh yes…” Dagon looked thoughtful. “How about a crowbar at the zoo?”

Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose. He could not work with these levels of stupidity. All he wanted to do was wipe the stupid principality off the face of the earth, to grind him into the dust for being such a giant pain in his arse. Was that too much to ask for? Didn’t he deserve this after putting up with the prat for thousands of years?

“Or maybe an explosion?” piped up Dagon with a cheerful smile, scales glinting in the morning sun. “I do like an explosion.”

“Yes, whatever, you do what you want…” Gabriel dismissed him with a wave of his hand, sighing deeply. Whatever Dagon suggested was going to be useless. He was going to have to do it himself, which was the last thing he needed. Things had been… Unsettled in Heaven. The angels had not taken lightly to being asked to lay down their weapons, and he was wary of doing anything to upset the boat so soon. But this was just an opportunity too good to miss.

“How did he do it?” asked Dagon, as he turned to go. “How did he take all those memories?”

“We… Don’t know.” admitted Gabriel. “I got a memo that it had been done, and went to check myself. I don’t think his divine memories were the plan, but they’re all… _Attached_ to the demon, so it’s all blank.” Gabriel shuddered at the very thought. “Disgusting.”

“More what you’d expect one of mine to do…” agreed Dagon, like such a thing were possible. “Crowley doesn’t know?”

“Doesn’t appear that way.” Gabriel shrugged, like he cared at all what the demon did or didn’t know. Like it mattered! “So, explosion? And remember, we never had this conversation.”

“Anything to torture the traitor… I might even do this one myself.” His blank face lit up at the idea, there was nothing Dagon enjoyed more than a good murder. “Maybe we can explode him too? Won’t do anything permanent but it will be _fun._ ”

_* * * * * *_

Crowley thought he might be going insane.

It had only been six days since the car had crashed into Aziraphale and leaving a shell of him behind, but it felt like years. Felt like decades. He spent all his time within the Bentley or on the street, waiting for the angel to come out of the shop. Because for some reason, despite the fact he was surrounded by his books and all the tasty treats he could want (Crowley made sure a delivery was sent every day) the absolute idiot kept _leaving the damn shop._

It was like he wanted to get killed. And when he was back to himself, Crowley was going to damn well kill him himself.

After the near escape at the zoo, Aziraphale had stayed inside for almost two days. Two days of blissful worrying and waiting in the Bentley. Blissful, of course, only compared to the next two days, when Aziraphale decided what he really needed to do was mindlessly walk around London until he got into trouble.

Which he did three times.

The first incident was coming out of a sushi restaurant, the very one Crowley had promised to take him to after his planned nap back in another lifetime. Aziraphale had wandered aimlessly around London for four hours before he’d found it, and then stood outside staring at it for thirty more minutes before venturing inside. He’d been at the counter when the lightning strike hit – somehow coursing through the restaurant and across the metal till he was touching. Crowley had pulled him out just in time, only performing a minor time miracle in the process, and disappeared before Aziraphale could ask any questions.

Then, an hour later Aziraphale stumbled into a bakery they’d once met for coffee in, and on his way out the heavy sign fell to where the angel paused to carefully catalogue his purchases. A sharp shove had been enough that time, not even needing a miracle, but he knew he’d been spotted before he ran off down the street. That was clearly enough for the day, and he went home to give Crowley a few hours to rest his frantic heart in the comfort of the Bentley. The car had taken to playing ‘Another One Bites the Dust’ every hour on the hour, which at least annoyed the neighbours as much as him.

But the rest didn’t last long. The following morning Aziraphale set out again _,_ this time to walk around London for five hours before stopped eventually at the bandstand. The one Crowley had hoped he’d never have to relive. A stray javelin had coursed through the air, which Crowley had managed to change its direction before it even got close to its target, only to be replaced by the bandstand trying to collapse on his head. He’d had to physically pull him out of the way again, though he at least managed to get away before angel could start to talk, and the three cars that tried to mow the angel down on his way back to the shop had all been averted remotely.

The next day Aziraphale had only just stepped on the pavement when a piano had fallen from someone moving in next door. That had been the closest call so far, and would definitely have been the most embarrassing, but Crowley reached him just in time to ram him back into the safety of the shop. 

Aziraphale had grabbed his wrist and stared at him as he’d tried to run away, his face a picture of loss and confusion.

“You!” he managed to choke out, reaching out to touch before Crowley had torn his arm away.

“For fuck sake Aziraphale stop making my job so hard and _stay in the bloody shop_!”

It was the only thing he could bring himself to say as he ran off down the street, stopping at the corner to keep watch. Aziraphale had stood in the doorway for almost an hour, but thankfully hadn’t ventured out again.

If he wasn’t so exhausted, he’d be furious at all the ridiculous murder attempts, it was like living in a slapstick comedy without the laughs.

It was getting out of hand.

Crowley hunched in the Bentley, one eye on the shop and the other on one of the books he had piled in the passenger seat. Books, in the Bentley! If only Aziraphale could see him now… But he didn’t know what else to do. He’d been to hell, tried to follow any scent of angel he caught whiff of in London. It _had_ to be the angels, didn’t it? Who else would want to punish Aziraphale in such a way? Apart from hell of course, but whilst they looked to be behind some of the more elaborate murder attempts, it didn’t fit that they’d take away memories. Hell was not so subtle.

What Crowley couldn’t work out was _how._ Of course, they could all change human memories if they wanted to. But memory was messy – all those wires tangled up and crossing over in your head. So easy to get wrong. But they couldn’t, as far as he could tell, change _each other’s_ memories. So how on earth had they done it to Aziraphale?

“Oh for…” Crowley growled, the now familiar jolt of electricity running through him as he watched a head of white hair exit the shop and set off down the street. He was going to have to start locking him in, or nailing his feet to the floor. Maybe both.

He followed him in the Bentley for a while, easy to creep along at walking pace in typical London traffic. Eventually, as Aziraphale cut down a side street, he had to abandon the car in favour of following on foot and readied himself for further hours walking around London. But they didn’t go far – Aziraphale surprised him by ignoring the rows of little restaurants and bakeries they passed and instead heading towards the British Museum. He followed him inside at a distance, there being far too many people inside for Crowley to trust Aziraphale by himself, and watched the angel amble around gazing at all the cases. Occasionally, he’d grin or exclaim as if in remembrance, and Crowley allowed himself to just enjoy watching him as they travelled through the building.

They ended up in one of the exterior wings housing a temporary exhibition of modern art made from glass that real Aziraphale would have shuddered at, but this version walked slowly inside. It was almost empty, the large circular room leading out onto the terrace with a café. It was hard to hide in such a space, and Crowley spent almost all his time huddled behind one of the doors as Aziraphale viewed each item in excruciating detail. Finally, he left the exhibit to walk towards the café, and Crowley let out the breath he’d been holding to slither back into view. Moving closer to the terrace to keep an eye on him, a strange noise caught his attention. A low hiss echoed around the now empty room, and unease spread through Crowley’s blood. It wasn’t an animal’s hiss, it was more like a whistle: high pitched and constant. He sniffed the air – gas.

There was no time to think. Crowley sprinted through the open doors just as the draft started, almost blowing him backwards. He saw Aziraphale in front of him, nowhere near far enough away from the building, and catapulted himself towards his retreating back.

The explosion caught him mid leap, the force of it pushing the breath out of his lungs and his jump off course. He squeezed his eyes shut as time slowed, the first ripple of the blast bursting out into the sky. Crowley twisted slightly to the right as he careened downwards, hitting Aziraphale’s back and giving him and everyone nearby a great push forward with his mind.

Time ricocheted as the force sent them flying, heat searing at their backs as bricks and rubble flew high in the air. Crowley landed hard on his side, glasses flying and ribs cracking with the impact as he focused his energy on ensuring Aziraphale had a soft grass landing. He twisted, focusing on the bits of building flying across the courtyard and _knowing_ none of them would it anyone. 

People were screaming, though all miraculously unharmed, and he could already hear sirens roaring in the distance. His eyes skated over the scene of devastation around him and came to rest on a small boy wailing with his arms outstretched as what looked like his mother was struggling to her feet. _Kids._ You couldn’t just go around blowing up buildings with kids nearby. He looked around at the people who were just _slightly_ out of reach of the rubble and winced. If he hadn’t been here…

Something snapped in Crowley’s mind, and he wrenched himself to his feet with a snarl of fury.

“I know you’re there!” he screamed over the building, now little more than a pile of rubble attached to the main museum. “I can feel you! Come out, you bastards! Cowards!”

His shouts echoed into the sky, but there was no reply. He growled, turning back to check on Aziraphale who was staring at him with his mouth hanging open. His blue eyes widened as they met his uncovered gaze, and Crowley cursed softly as he stooped to retrieve the glasses that had flown off in the blast. They were cracked and bent, but he barely noticed as he stared down at the angel at his feet.

“Are you hurt?” he demanded, eyes roving over him for any sign of injury or discomfort.

“No I don’t think so…” he looked around in a daze. “What happened?”

“Gas explosion.” Spat Crowley. “Why couldn’t you just stay in the fucking bookshop like I told you!”

“I… You saved me.”

“Well yes, of course. And I don’t want to do it again!” Crowley turned his back on him, not able to stand the familiar grateful expression in his gaze. He stared over what had been a building mere minutes ago, and thought he saw a silvery glimmer of movement amongst the rubble. “We need to get out of here, right now.”

“What? Shouldn’t we…”

“ _Now_ angel!” He reached out to pull him roughly to his feet and practically dragged him towards the gate that led out onto the road, the feel of the angel’s pulse thrumming with life against his fingers enough to calm him slightly. He glanced over his shoulder every few steps as he hustled Aziraphale forwards, ignoring his exclamations of shock and indignation “Come on, you can fuss later, now you need to move!”

“Really my dear boy!”

They made it to the road without any more danger, the Bentley already standing waiting for them just as he’d expected, despite being parked several streets away. He just needed to get him back to the bookshop, back to the safe haven he’d created for him. And this time, he was going to make him stay inside.

“Get in.”

“Not until you tell me what’s going on!” Aziraphale was standing ramrod straight and not looking at the car. “I demand to know what’s going on! I’m not going anywhere in this… In this…”

Crowley paused halfway into the car, to glance up at the stammering angel. He was swaying slightly, his face slack and sickly pale as he stared at the car.

“Angel, please get in the car….” Crowley softened his voice, gesturing to the door. “It’s not far. I’ll even go slow. Come on.”

Aziraphale looked at him, still blank and empty, but must have seen something encouraging in his face as he eventually nodded slowly and got in. They remained silent for the entire journey, even the Bentley seemed to be aware that Crowley was hyper alert for any sign of danger.

They pulled up outside the bookshop, and Aziraphale turned to face him with a serious contemplative expression. “Now you will tell me what’s going on.”

“When we’re inside…”

Sighing deeply, the angel complied, and Crowley allowed him to hold the door open before they entered. It was dark, all the curtains closed, and colder than Crowley had ever known it. It was also a _mess._ Books were scattered over the floor, papers strewn over chairs and the rug curled into twist on the floor. Boxes of half-eaten food were piled around a chair, crumbs scattered over nearby books in a way that Aziraphale, or atleast _his_ Aziraphale, would have lost his mind over. Aziraphale had always owned way too many things, piling up the books and little ornaments to feather his comfortable little nest. But the chaos was ordered, homely. This… This was just a disaster.

“What happened here?” asked Crowley, picking his familiar way through the stacks. “What have you been doing with yourself, angel?”

“You know your way around.”

It wasn’t a question. Aziraphale was still standing near the door, watching Crowley move easily around his shop with a curious expression.

“I… I remember from when I dropped you off before.” Lied Crowley, shrugging. “S’not difficult to navigate a bookshop.”

“It is for me…” mumbled Aziraphale, ringing his hands. “But that’s not it. You know this place.”

Crowley ignored him and continued his journey. It was even worse the further back he got, and when he reached the desk, he stopped to stare at the odd piles surrounding it like a fortress. Books piled in different genres; books stacked precariously so they might fall over any minute. And amongst the volumes was strange objects: a cushion, full bottles of wine and whisky, letters, and ornaments. He moved closer to the desk to get a better look and drew in a sharp intake of breath at the collection in front of him.

A beautiful copy of Hamlet Crowley had picked up in Venice in the early 1700s, a golden clock he’d stolen from Versailles, a pink cocktail umbrella from Waikiki. There was a tottering pile of random first editions Crowley had bought him over the years (more than he remembered) topped by a snake mug he’d jokingly miracled up to sit alongside the angel’s own winged mug and a small globe he’d found in tiny market in Lisbon before the debacle of the Holy Water. There were the books of prophecies he’d saved during the Blitz, the hat he’d given to Aziraphale in his role as Brother Francis. Countless little presents stretched around the space, some Crowley hadn’t seen in centuries, some so ridiculous he’d just assumed Aziraphale would throw them straight out. Instead he’d kept them all in perfect condition. There was a small box he didn’t recognise sat in the very centre of the desk, maybe hiding something delicate he couldn’t remember buying. But everything else…

“You’ve seen these before?”

Crowley couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Aziraphale had approached whilst he’d stood transfixed, and the demon could feel his gaze hot on his face. This was his heart flayed out for all to see. The silly little gifts, the reminders of favours he’d done for him. His stupid, pathetic love spread out on the desk like an exhibit, like something to be picked apart and understood.

“You have!” Aziraphale was staring between Crowley and the desk, before rushing over to touch his collection. “They’re linked, in some way, I know they are. If only I could _think,_ I could make the connection…” He picked up the cocktail umbrella, a cockade of France and a ludicrous Christmas angel that had been hidden behind a pile of books and shook them. “What links these together! It makes no sense…”

The brandished present swam before his eyes as Crowley stared at him. His lungs full of ice, heavy and fracturing through his chest. He tried to focus on something, anything, that wasn’t so full of _them_ but there was nothing. Just their entwined lives spread out like a rotting banquet.

“Food keeps arriving for me every day.” Continued Aziraphale. “Boxes of things I don’t remember but are delicious. And I keep getting into danger and you… You keep saving me.”

“Would you rather I didn’t?” snapped Crowley.

“No, of course not.”

“Then stop going on, I don’t need the sermon.”

“Why don’t I remember you?” asked Aziraphale. “You, parts of London, these objects. Foods, animals. There’s so _much_ , but I just can’t quite…” He sighed, placing the clutched items back on the desk. “You’d think I’d remember my guardian angel.”

Surely Crowley had misheard the last part. “Your _what?”_

“Guardian angel.” He repeated, as if it was obvious. “You said I was your job. Well, that made sense when I started reading one of these Bibles I have so many of… Psalm 91:11. And I _think_ I remember the Almighty, and something to do with guarding… It fits.”

Laughter burst from Crowley before he could stop it, high pitched and slightly hysterical. It fractured out of him like broken glass, cutting and searing through his throat. He pressed his lips together, teeth breaking the skin inside his mouth and allowing him to hiccup into silence. “Fuck, this is ridiculous.”

Aziraphale started at him, visibly affronted, which made Crowley want to laugh even more. His chest hurt with the force of containing it, ice cracking and eyes stinging. No this was not laughter at all, it was too painful. It might have been crying if demons did such a thing.

“Oh dear, you’re upset…”

“Enough!” shouted Crowley, making Aziraphale flinch backwards. “Enough. I need you to _remember!”_

“Oh, I…”

“You know me. You’ve known me since Eden. 6000 years ago.” Crowley leant forward, invading Aziraphale’s personal space and bearing down on him. “You’re an angel, I’m a _demon._ No guardian, just a serpent that looks after you like a bloody idiot. Come on angel, you need to remember. For me, Aziraphale. I need you to remember _for me._ ”

Blue eyes stared blankly back at him, fear flickering deep in his gaze. Aziraphale was shaking his head distractedly, pulling away from him as much as he could without falling back into the desk. Crowley snarled in frustration, and ripped his broken glasses from his face. He stared down at the shaking uncertain form, and tried to soften his shaking voice.

“Come on, angel. _Please._ ”

“Angel? No… You are. Not me. You say I know you… But looking at you just makes me feel _empty.”_

Empty. He made Aziraphale feel e _mpty_? Crowley didn’t think he’d ever felt less empty in his life. He was being suffocated, drowned, dragged under sinking sand. Every cell of his pathetic human form burned with emotion and he hated and loved to such a degree that it _hurt_ far more than anything he’d ever imagined. The words tore him to settle deep in his soul, and it was all suddenly too much.

“I can’t do this…” Crowley choked, stumbling backwards. “I can’t do this…”

He turned on his heel and ran, tripping over books and objects on his way but never looking back. He couldn’t trust himself to stop and look back. Aziraphale was calling after him, begging him to stay and explain, but he needed to get out. To try and put his head back together enough to get his angel back.

* * * * * * * *

“Wait, come back!”

Aziraphale tried to follow him but couldn’t keep up. He knocked over books, ran into tables, went the wrong way through stacks. His guardian angel was out of the door before he’d even reached the front of the shop, and even though he knew it was pointless he barrelled after him and out into blinding sunshine.

“Anthony!”

But he was gone.

He stood in the doorway, glancing up and down the street but there was no flash of red hair or black car waiting in the street. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes, but he wasn’t sure why. He clung to the door, the now familiar wave of blackness engulfing him and he swayed with the effort.

“Aziraphale!” 

He jumped, looking around him hopefully a moment before spotting Gabriel walking towards him, suit immaculate and smiling widely. It did not reach his eyes.

“Gabriel… Did I miss something important?”

“A little. Shall we walk?”

Aziraphale teetered on the boundary of the bookshop, suddenly wary. His guardian, Anthony, had asked him to remain inside. Had told him to on multiple occasions, had insisted.

“You could come in?”

Gabriel eyed the bookshop with a distaste that made something deep in Aziraphale bristle. “I’d rather walk, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Well, he could not be rude, could he? Twisting his hands, Aziraphale nodded and stepped out into the street next to his boss. He was rewarded with a bright grin that somehow made his eyes grow cooler, and they set off together at an uncomfortably brisk pace.

“Excuse me mate, have you got the time?”

A harried looking man with a briefcase approached them, barely glancing at the bedraggled Aziraphale before fixing his stare on the much sharper looking Gabriel. The latter stared at him with ill-concealed contempt.

“The time for what?”

The man stopped, looking Gabriel up and down properly. His mouth tugged into a crooked smile as he considered him.

“Well, if you’re asking, I could make time for something with you… How about coffee?”

“I don’t sully myself with gross matter.” Shuddered Gabriel, barely glancing at him before continuing off down the street. “Come on, Aziraphale.” 

“Well, that went down like a lead balloon…” the man muttered, walking away.

_That went down like a lead balloon._

Aziraphale stumbled, a wave of nausea rolling through him as something struck deep in his core. It was like a bell, huge and ringing and blinding. Like remembering. He spun around, trying to get another glimpse of the man but he’d already been swallowed by the crowd. His voice was tolling in his ears, drowning out everything else. Did he know him? Did he remember him?

_That went down like a lead balloon._

“What are you doing?” hissed Gabriel, his image swirling sickeningly in Aziraphale’s mind. “Quick, let’s go down here…”

He blundered after Gabriel, unsteady and swaying into the small empty space. He reached out, trying to right himself as the world tilted spectacularly on its axis but his hands just met air. Shadows loomed in his mind and he tried to speak, tried to say anything over the deep tolling in his mind, in his soul.

_That went down like a lead balloon._

“Look at you… Principality stumbling around like a human. You are a _disgrace_!”

All niceties had gone from Gabriel’s face now. He was looking at Aziraphale with nothing short of loathing, eyes burning as he stared him down.

“I…”

The shadows were rushing in his brain, flying at breakneck speed through his veins as he tried to cling to anything to keep him steady. He could only just make out Gabriel, the shining aura that made him feel so familiar tinged with something putrid and sickly. He tried to reach out to him, to ask for his help, but was met only by disdain.

“I’ve been waiting to do this for… Well, I guess since the beginning.”

A sharp pain erupted in his abdomen, and he stared down at the knife glinting in Gabriel’s hand. He clutched himself, gaping openly at the man in front of him as warmth spread from the wound onto his hand.

“For the greater good.” Said Gabriel, before disappearing in a shimmering light.

Aziraphale collapsed in a heap; his legs no longer able to stand the sickening sway. His head felt like it might crack open. He pressed his forehead onto the cool ground and twisted his fingers into the grass so he wouldn’t fall into the sky, his mouth open in a silent scream. The ghosts rushing through his mind were gaining substance, growing into gardens, prison cells, churches. Countless faces of history began to run past, but one redheaded constant stood out amongst all others. Sometimes smiling, often scornful, his image twisted and changed through the years until it shuddered and exploded into thousands of memories, millions of swirling emotions. The feeling scorched through his veins leaving a wide gaping space that could only be filled by one thing. 

“ _Crowley._ ”

Bright yellow eyes and a crooked smile burst through Aziraphale’s mind and filled it, leeching into the cracks like water. He was suddenly transported, wings bursting from him in a rush of energy he couldn’t contain as 6000 years of joy and pain and love cascaded through him in mere moments. 

And he remembered. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the kudos and kind comments! I'm having so much fun writing my first fic on this site.


	5. Chapter 5

_Six days earlier:_

The night had been almost perfect; the food, the wine, the company. It was still hard to imagine the worries of the last eleven years were over, and despite the giddy joy of the meal Aziraphale appreciated the quiet as the whole evening ended in a long, slow exhale. Settling into a new beginning.

They walked back to the shop, Aziraphale wanting to drag out as much of Crowley’s company as he could. The demon was mostly the same as ever, all snark and swagger lightened by freedom, but there was a softness to him that Aziraphale rarely got to see. He was less guarded, more open about how much he was enjoying being there. Being with Aziraphale.

Just the thought made him a bit reckless, and he’s struggled to keep a lid on himself. He’d known Crowley for 6000 years, probably loved him for most of it and _definitely_ loved him for the last few. But they’d always had to keep each other at arm’s length in fear of their respective sides catching on to their arrangement, fear of hell catching on to Crowley.

But they didn’t have sides anymore.

A warm glow spread through Aziraphale at the thought, and he glanced sideways at his friend to find an empty space instead. Crowley had stopped a few feet away, eyes staring ahead towards the bookshop and hands clenched tightly at his side. His mouth was twisted into a cruel line, so far from the relaxed smile he’d spent the evening basking in that it made the angel gasp. He ached to reach out and smooth out the worry into contentment, to hold him close and share the burden. What was torturing him so? What had he endured in Aziraphale’s inconvenient absence from earth that had made him look like _that_?

“Crowley?”

His covered eyes dragged away from the shop and back to Aziraphale, stress easing out of him with a breath.

“Sorry angel…” Crowley smiled, one of his gentle ones that made Aziraphale’s heart throb in his chest. The smile he’d given him when he saved him from the bomb, the smile he’d given him in the sixties and countless times tonight. The smile Aziraphale kept locked deep in his soul, the smile that made him ache with longing. “S’all good, just tired I guess. Have you had a chance to look at all the new editions Adam graced you with?”

He knew it was a forced change of subject, knew Crowley knew exactly what to say to make him talk, what would make him be quiet. Crowley knew him in a way only a connection like theirs, spreading across the history of the world, could know someone. Wholly and completely, and Aziraphale loved him so fiercely in that moment that he thought he must be glowing with it, giving off some sign in droves. He faltered slightly at the entrance to the shop, for the millionth time convinced that he’d be caught out. But Crowley’s face was as it ever was, listening but pretending not to, half hidden behind those ridiculous sunglasses.

“Won’t you come in?”

They paused on the threshold, Crowley leaning in but not moving his feet. The light of the shop cast his face in shadow, highlighting the sharp cheekbones and hollowness to his cheeks. Had he always been this skinny? He’d always been long and lean, even in Eden, all sharp planes and angles. But there was something beneath the surface, something sinking into his bones that made him look smaller, less substantial. Aziraphale knew Crowley slept. Was this just exhaustion? He so desperately wanted to touch him, to know the feel of him and comfort in a way that only physical touch did. But Aziraphale didn’t trust his restraint, didn’t trust himself to be able to stop once he started. That dam needed to remain intact.

“You look tired…”

“Yeah…I’m probably going to go back to my flat and sleep.” Crowley rubbed his eyes and sagged slightly, already withdrawing in a way that made panic rise in Aziraphale’s chest.

“You’ll… You’ll let me know when you wake up?” He knew his voice sounded pathetic and desperate, but he couldn’t contain it. The thought of Crowley going away again after everything was excruciating, and wished more than ever he could just tell him to stay and sleep there, in the bed he rarely used upstairs. 

“Course I will, Angel. A week, tops.” That smile again. It was going to be the death of him. “Then we can go to that little sushi place near St James’ you like so much.”

_Oh_ how he loved him. He had loved him for so long that he wasn’t sure how not to anymore, it was a part of his very being, part of his soul. Falling for him had been so slow, so _easy,_ he’d barley noticed. Of course, Crowley had always been beautiful, even in Eden. The hair, that shocked smile, the reassurance… No one had ever spoken to him like that before, and he’d been captivated from the very start. He delighted in each of their meetings, knowing he shouldn’t but just not being able to help himself. It was only during the Blitz, when Crowley saved those books and looked so damn pleased about it, that he couldn’t hide in ignorance anymore. The final push off the precipice should have been a fall, but it had more been like waking up after a long, long dream. He _loved_ him.

And it was high time he did something about it.

He watched Crowley strut off down the view, enjoying the view despite his sinking heart. The sway of his hips were distracting even in the half light of the streetlamps and Aziraphale gave himself a few seconds to run his eyes over those indecently tight trousers with a shiver. He’d never been one to shy away from earthly pleasures - fine clothes, the very best food and wine, surrounding himself with charming things… Humans were so clever, so why couldn’t he enjoy that whilst he helped them on their way to goodness? No one had ever _said_ he couldn’t eat or drink, no one had ever _said_ he couldn’t surround himself with beauty. And, well, angels were created in God’s image. What could be more divine than worshiping one of Her beautiful (albeit Fallen) creations?

Especially when love was involved.

Aziraphale had made a promise to himself before the trials Heaven and Hell, that if they survived whatever had in store for them, he wouldn’t hold back anymore. And he always kept his promises. He knew Crowley cared for him, enjoyed his company and had a deep softness underneath that he couldn’t always hide. It came out in the little presents, the invitations to dinner, the countless times he’d saved him. So even without the wishing, the hoping, the dreaming that he would feel the same… Without imagining Crowley in his arms, how warm and soft his lips would be, just knowing how exquisite he would feel pressed against him. Without any of the ache for reciprocating feelings, even if Crowley drew away in horror, Aziraphale really just wanted his friend to know how loved he was. Crowley deserved nothing less.

So taking a leaf out of the demon’s book, he’d settled on a present. In the morning before he’d made the trip to Hell, Aziraphale had made a detour on the way to the park and stopped at a jeweller for a commission and, after a lot of deliberating, he’d settled on a simple gold band of the ouroboros. It was yet to arrive; he had no idea how he was going to hand it over and lay his heart out in his hands. At least he now had a week to think about it.

He smiled at the demon’s retreating back as he turned to go into the shop, already thinking about the hot cocoa and books waiting for him inside, when something caught his eye on the other side of the road.

Death was watching him.

PRINCIPALITY.

The angel jumped, clutching his hands and staring opened mouthed at the hooded figure. He really hated telepathy. None of the people passing by even gave him a second look, but he could feel the cold creeping of dread trickling down his spine at that empty, flat gaze. Aziraphale glanced down the street, but Crowley was still walking back towards his flat. Well, no need to drag him into this if he didn’t need to.

“Hello again!” he smiled politely, taking a few steps forward out of his shop. “To what do I have the pleasure?”

YOU HAVE DENIED ME.

“Den.. Denied you? I’m awfully sorry, I’m not quite sure…”

ARMEGEDDON. ALL THOSE SOULS WERE TO BE MINE. SO I HAVE COME TO COLLECT.

“Well, the Almighty…”

I HAVE COME FOR THE DEMON CROWLEY.

Aziraphale’s heart stopped. He resisted the urge to glance at Crowley’s retreating back, and instead focused on at the hooded figure with hard eyes. “You can’t have him. He isn’t here.”

I HAVE COME FOR HIS SOUL, NOT HIS BODY. YOU CARRY IT. AND I AM TO TAKE IT FROM YOU.

“No!” Aziraphale gasped, blood roaring in his ears. He clutched his hands tightly by his side, trying to keep an ounce of sense as panic and fear ripped through his chest. “You can’t take a demons soul.” 

NOT FROM HIM, BUT THERE ARE NO RULES ABOUT TAKING HIS ESSENCE FROM ANOTHER.

“You can’t take him.” Aziraphale challenged. He strode forward into the road, something deep in his soul burning with anger and despair. They’d survived Armageddon, survived the trials of heaven and hell, and now someone was trying to take Crowley from him _again._ He wasn’t going to let that happen. He would keep Crowley safe. “I won’t let you take him. I will protect him.”

Aziraphale stared ahead of him, mind whirring to try and grasp at something, anything, that he could say or do. But nothing, just endless blankness. What did he mean Crowley’s soul was in him? It didn’t make sense! How was he supposed to save him from something he didn’t understand?

SAY GOODBYE.

No. _No._ Not this time. Terror was raging in every cell of his body; every fibre of his celestial being burning with it. Desperation clawed up his throat as he scrabbled through his mind for any idea, any scrap of thought that could help. Crowley’s face burst forward, those large yellow eyes and his very softest smile scorching its way past everything else. He was so beautiful; ridiculous, and strong and _beautiful._ So curious and snarky, so soft and kind. Aziraphale felt him deep in his very being, felt him in the core that made up everything he was. Memories of millennia together, forging them both into what they were. _Their own side._ Nothing could have been more true, and their lives were wrapped up in his mind, deep in his soul, where his love for Crowley burned hot and bright and never ending.

That was it. The only chance. 

In a bid of desperation, Aziraphale gathered Crowley tenderly up in his memory and with every last scrap of self-control he possessed and _pushed._ The image rippled, tugged to the furthest reaches of his mind and flew off into the ether. Pain tore through him, chest cracking as he forced the memories out. He wanted to double up, to cry out in agony as they ripped themselves free, but he couldn’t afford to give anything away. He stared at Death with burning eyes, teeth cracking with the effort of restraint. 

_I love you Crowley,_ he thought desperately, as the last six thousand years past before his eyes with a heart-bleeding lurch. _I love you, and I’m sorry you never knew._

NO!

The angel closed his eyes as the very last piece of Crowley trickled through his fingers, black robed and standing on the wall of Eden with his wings outstretched. He looked unsure, a slight frown tugging his lips and flaming hair blowing in the wind. Aziraphale had never met a demon before, but this wasn’t at all what he’d expected. He seemed…. Thoughtful. Contemplating. Different. 

“ _Well, that went down like a lead balloon…”_

The image flickered and vanished.

Aziraphale opened his eyes in confusion just as the car hit.


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blown away by the responses to my first work on here, thank you everyone!   
> I need to torture poor Crowley a little bit more - but I promise we will eventually get some happiness!

Crowley stumbled out of the bookshop, almost-Aziraphale’s voice ringing deafeningly in his ears. He fixed his gaze on the shining beacon of the Bentley at the end of the street as he blocked everything else out, half running in his desperation. It was all too much; too cruel, too _cold._ His nails dug into the fragile skin of his palms but he barely noticed, eyes only for the sanctuary awaiting him.

 _Empty._ Just the sound of the words cracked through his ribs and settled deep into his heart. That single, resounding word going round and round in his mind, echoing and tearing as the image of Aziraphale blankly holding up his heart seared into his retinas. All that love, all that history… All that life. Now just discarded on a table, making an angel feel empty.

He threw himself into the car, slamming the door tightly behind him and clutching the wheel like a life raft. He just needed a minute – a few seconds of turmoil and then he would go back to the shop, go back to the pile of books stacked next to him, to the investigations he couldn’t make sense off. To the endless list of things he didn’t understand, that cut him deep to the core. To the stretching yawn of eternity to suffer alone.

Slumping over the wheel, he squeezed his eyes shut in the effort to gather the fractured pieces of himself together. They burned with unshed tears, but he refused to let them fall. That could come later. He was just so _exhausted._ Everything felt like running through treacle, like fighting up hill with one arm tied behind his back. If he just took a moment to rest….

Which of course was the moment he could feel Aziraphale _leave the fucking bookshop again._

Crowley pressed his head against the steering wheel and roared into the empty car. His rage echoed around the space, breaking in on itself as it ripped from his chest. His fingers curled so tightly that he felt the metal bend under his hands, and he pressed his face further into it as he took deep shuddering breaths. The familiar smell of leather, wax and petrol filled his nostrils and steadied his heart. He smoothed the wheel out into it’s usual perfect curve, eyes still closed as he willed Aziraphale back into the bookshop. It didn’t work. Of course it didn’t work.

He collapsed in on himself, the fight shuddering out of him in a rush. Crowley knew he needed to go and find the angel, to keep watch over him in such a vulnerable state. He willed himself to move, to sit up and climb out of the car to save him like he always did. But he couldn’t get the image of frightened Aziraphale hunched over the spread of his presents through the ages. Empty.

“ _Come on…”_ he urged himself, rocking in his seat. “Come on you bloody stupid demon, pull yourself together… You save him. It’s what you do. Now get the fuck on with it…” His legs stayed stubbornly where they were. Crowley threw his head back, sunglasses bouncing off in a rush leaving him to stare up at the roof of the Bentley and growled in frustration. He forced himself to think back to a week ago, back to their evening in the Ritz. His mind filled of Aziraphale, his laughing face as they’d reminisced, his pleased little sigh at the end of each course, the flush of pleasure at each first taste. He pushed past the deep ache in his heart, past the pain and fear and rage. Past everything that hurt to that bowtie, to the jacket he’d kept in perfect condition for centuries, the cross expression saved only for customers trying to buy his precious books. He wrapped them up tightly, and pushed himself sharply up.

Crowley fell out of the car, almost tripping in the effort to push himself onwards. He leant for a moment against his beloved Bentley, emboldened by the feel of her cool curves under his palms, before fishing his spare pair of sunglasses from his jacket and striding down the street to find his angel for what felt like the hundredth time that week.

He didn’t get very far.

Static rippled over his skin in a rush, followed by a sharp pain deep in his gut that knocked the breath from his lungs. He stood for a moment in blind panic as the crippling certainty that Aziraphale was hurt washed over him, that he was in danger somewhere, somewhere Crowley wasn’t…

“Aziraphale!”

He could taste the threat as he barrelled forward, his mind shrinking down to the single point where he could feel the distress of the angel. He was passing the shop in a blur, legs spiralling through the air as he ran towards… Nothing.

Crowley skidded to a stop, mind reaching out to the spot he’d held Aziraphale in that now gaped open and hollow. He could feel the space Aziraphale had occupied moments before, and was instantly transported to the small park around the corner from the bookshop. But it was empty.

“Aziraphale!” he bellowed into the leafy sky. “Aziraphale! Where are you?”

Nothing.

“Come on, Aziraphale…” Crowley’s eyes scanned the space for a clue, anything that might help him locate him. His gaze skittered and stalled on two bright drops colouring the dust.

“ _Angel…”_

Crowley was on his knees without deciding to do so, fingers smearing the still warm red liquid into his skin. A sob ripped from his throat as his fingers clawed into the dirt and clutched it close to his chest, not being able to bear the thought of any of Aziraphale left out here all on his own. He stuffed it into his pockets, dust scattering over his clothes but he didn’t care. Crowley stared down at the red streaks across his palm and willed it to stay there, threatened it to never fade, a tiny portion of Aziraphale to stay with him.

How had he let this happen? He’d left him unguarded and unprotected, let them get to him. After everything they’d been through. When Aziraphale needed him the most he’d failed him. 

Humans walked past him as he sat curled in on himself, instinctively knowing better than to approach or interfere. He craved the oblivion of alcohol, briefly considering finding another bar to drown out the cacophony in his mind. It had worked last time, maybe there’d been another ghostly image of Aziraphale to greet him at the other side of the table to take away this roaring pain in his chest. 

But last time someone hadn’t been _trying_ to kill him. There was no body, not like being hit by the car, which meant… Which meant…

Which meant that discorporated, captured, destroyed… Something of it, something left of Aziraphale, was somewhere.

And Crowley needed to find him.

* * * * * * *

It was a ridiculous plan, really.

Ridiculous in truly epic proportions, even for Crowley.

It was a good thing he was absolutely _spectacular_ at ridiculous.

Which is what saw him strutting towards the front entrance of Heaven like it was something he did on a regular basis, barely registering the burning in the soles of his feet as his signature swagger carried him off the escalator and into the great white expanse of the waiting room to Heaven.

“Erm, can I help you?”

A confused looking angel sat at a great front desk, gaping at Crowley with wide eyes. He lowered his glasses to throw her a wink as he sauntered past without a pause towards the large double doors at the end of the foyer, earning a scandalised gasp.

“You! You’re a demon! You can’t go in there!”

Crowley ignored her, the picture of casual unconcern despite his heart hammering hard in his chest as he took a deep breath and pushed open the doors. He strode through, ignoring the handful of shocked angels who stopped what they were doing to gape at him as he passed. He spotted his target ordering some poor unfortunate soul near one of the large stretches of window, and he lengthened his stride.

“Michael! _Dude…”_ Aziraphale pleased and giggling flashed through Crowley’s mind as he approached the Archangel, twisting his smile into a snarl. “I hear you’ve been naughty.”

“Demon Crowley!” Michael flinched ever so slightly before lifting her lips into a cold smile. She glanced around, taking in the angels that had stopped their duties to stop and stare at the outsider in their ranks. “How did you get in here? Maybe we should…”

Crowley didn’t have time for pleasantries. “I think you have something of mine.”

“Something belonging to a demon? I don’t think so…” Michael lowered her voice. “But maybe we should go and speak…”

“Where is Aziraphale?”

“Let us go and speak to Gabriel.”

Crowley watched her carefully, then reluctantly followed Michael to the other side of the great white room. He supressed a shudder at the bright open space, suddenly aching for the comfortable claustrophobia of the bookshop, of warmth and stuffiness, of padding and colour and indulgence. Of _home_ and everything that came with it. He should have never left that night after the Ritz, should have strolled straight into that ridiculous overstuffed shop and slept on the sofa if he had to. If he could go back… He’d never sleep again, never even close his eyes, if he could just go back.

“This way…”

The blow to the back of his head caught him by surprise, distracted as he had been of thoughts of Aziraphale and home. He stumbled, catching himself against the wall before he crumpled. Light cast bright around him and he squinted at Michael who was smiling down at him with sickening satisfaction. They were no longer in heaven, the bright whiteness replaced with clammy darkness of what looked like a dungeon, or a crypt. Crowley’s feet itched, which suggested the latter.

“Demon Crowley… We’ve been expecting you.” Gabriel walked slowly around into Crowley’s view; eyes full of loathing. “But you took your time.”

“Where’s Aziraphale?” snarled Crowley, arching forward but immediately hitting something solid that threw him back. Stunned, he tried again, only to be thrown backwards onto the floor. He stared up at the two laughing archangels, and unease settled heavy in his stomach.

“Summoning circle…” The smugness in Gabriel’s face was sickening. “Let’s call it a deal with Death.”

“Where’s Aziraphale?” repeated Crowley. “What do you mean, a deal with Death?”

“The principality won’t be bothering us anymore…” Michael and Gabriel shared a smile that made Crowley’s blood boil, and he threw himself at them with a roar of fury. But it was no use – there was no way out of this invisible prison.

“You bastards! You absolute _fuckwits._ What did you do to him?” Crowley screamed, pressing himself as far as he could into the screen, crashing his fists into the invisible wall. “ _What did you do to him_?”

YOU WILL BOTH BE MINE NOW.

Crowley flinched and spun around to face Death, staring at the empty sockets underneath the black folds. There was no understanding in that flat gaze, no softness or comfort. Just inevitability.

So, this was the end. No Aziraphale, no home… Was this to be his eternity? Gabriel and Michael’s laughter echoed around the empty chamber, but Crowley barely registered them as he crumpled to the floor. He stared down at the blood streaked across his hand, pressing his nails into the centre, and breaking the soft skin. Their blood mixed in the pool of his palm, pressing them together for the last time. If Aziraphale was gone, what did it matter where he was anyway?


	7. Chapter Seven

“Oh… Oh dear.”

Aziraphale swayed as he struggled to his feet, shuddering with effort and relief. He had no idea how long he’d been lying on the floor engulfed by memories, but his wings felt heavy and awkward like they’d been slumped over him for a while. Small flickers were still playing across his retinas like a silent rerun, and he lost himself in a few moments reliving the more minor memories – Crowley with the long flowing waves he hadn’t worn for centuries, his blinding smile the first time he’d shown up with the Bentley, Nanny playing with young Warlock on the grass, Crowley shouting in his face telling him to remember… Oh. Crowley pushing him out of the way of an explosion, a stray bullet, a falling bandstand… Saving him, because he couldn’t remember enough to do it himself.

The angel sighed deeply. He’d made a bit of a mess of things, hadn’t he?

But… He’d only taken away his own memories, he hadn’t caused any of the incidents that had almost seen him discorporated, hadn’t been behind… Aziraphale patted himself down frantically for injury, Gabriel’s flat smile and the glint of a knife suddenly surging through his mind as the day came back in a rush. Gabriel had actually _stabbed_ him! Stabbed by an archangel! The wound had closed, the angelic energy that brought Aziraphale to this place helping his corporeal form heal, but his waistcoat was ripped and bloody. Definitely ruined. He ran his fingers over the damage, mourning its loss for a beat before looking around the wide expanse he found himself in.

It was a garden.

Well, more of a great expanse of trees, plants and rivers… But surrounded as it was by high walls on each side, it could only be a garden. The Garden.

Aziraphale walked slowly through what had once been Eden. The humans, bless them, had countless theories about where the garden now lay from their stories in the Bible, countries arguing between their chosen spots and claiming them divine. But Eden had always been tucked away, saved for later in another dimension and left to its own devices for six thousand years. Much like Aziraphale and Crowley, until the last few years had tipped everything spectacularly on its axis.

It was no longer the planned paradise the angels and the Almighty had created all those years ago. The precise perfection had been replaced with grass standing at shoulder length, the rivers perfect twists eroded to create a shorter path, the once gleaming walls choked by greenery and life. Birds flew, deer grazed, snakes slithered… A lion stalked it’s prey in the undergrowth, monkey’s swung through the trees. Aziraphale pictured himself atop the wall, and so immediately was, and gazed across the great expanse as his feet sank into the ivy and other plants now breaking free.

In the centre, stood an apple tree.

But this was like no apple tree Aziraphale had seen on Earth. It grew immense and sprawling, stretching out from the centre of the garden to reach upwards and outwards hundreds of metres into the sky. Each branch was laden with shining red fruit, linking its branches with countless other trees – oranges, pears, papayas, figs… All growing out from the centre to push out and over the walls, sprawling into the desert and into the expanse of their saved dimension. He had no idea how they were all here, how they’d all survived and grown and spread so much… But it took his breath away, not unlike the first time he had stood upon the wall and looked across the garden. It might have been wilder, less perfect, spreading from its shackles in the great desire to live and grow and be free. A little like he was these days.

He wished Crowley were here again, standing next to him on the wall. 

_Crowley._

His chest tightened in fear. Death wanted to come for him, wanted to take him away and destroy him… Just the thought cut deep at his heart, unable to bear the idea of a world without Crowley in it. A flash of panic forced Aziraphale back to the park on Earth, wings tucked away and stumbling into a run back towards the bookshop.

“Crowley!” he called, eyes searching for any sign of Bentley or flash of red. “Crowley!”

But it was no use. Crowley was gone, and something felt very, very wrong. 

It didn’t take Aziraphale to settle deep into frantic panic. It was, after all, a state he’d known well after the ridiculousness of the last 11 years, but this time he had no grounding demon to give him a pinch of reality. He visited the bookshop, Crowley’s flat, all of their rendezvous points… But to no avail. There was no hint of the demon anywhere. Not sure what else to do, Aziraphale miracled himself to random locations around England, throwing his emotions wide to try and find any trace of his demon, any hint to where he had been or could have gone. None of it worked. He returned back to the bookshop, leaning against the closed door and pressing his hands tightly over his face. He took a few deep breaths, trying to plan where to look next, when the shrill ring of the phone echoed through the shop. He was next to the desk in seconds, grabbing the receiver with far more force than necessary in his eagerness and almost toppling over.

“Crowley?”

“Erm, is this Mr Aziraphale?” A slightly familiar female voice drifted through the phone, and the angel slumped against the desk in defeat. Not Crowley.

“I’m sorry, the bookshop is closed…” He sighed, moving to put the phone back on the hook, but a scream from the other end stalled him.

“Wait! Mr Aziraphale, this is Anathema Device. From Tadfield. I left Agnes Nutter’s book in your car?”

“Miss Device, of course, so sorry…” Aziraphale closed his eyes, letting her voice drift over him as he tried to think of where to look next. Maybe another country? He wasn’t sure how far away Crowley would have to be so he couldn’t sense him, it wasn’t something he’d tested over the years. He normally just felt his presence close by and made his way there, and hadn’t felt it’s absence in decades.

“… referring to Mr Crowley.”

The sound of Crowley’s name shook him from his reverie, and he focused back on the American voice at the end of the line.

“I’m so sorry Miss Device, could you say that again?”

“This prophecy. We burnt the new ones, but Newt found this one fallen under the table and we thought it might be important because of what you said about Mr Crowley being the Serpent of Eden.”

Aziraphale’s eyes flew open and he stood bolt upright. “Could you repeat the prophecy?”

“ _Oh wily trickster lies to wait. Open thine eyes to use the garden and thine orders, and stop last of the Four keep hells fire in heaven light. Man of spells is key.”_ Recited Anathema, voice clear. “It made me think of you at the airfield, describing Mr Crowley is a wily serpent in the garden.”

“When did you find this?” he demanded, gripping the receiver. He had no idea what the prophecy meant, but wily trickster could _only_ mean Crowley and he could feel the flicker of hope ignite in his chest. “How long ago?”

“About an hour… Has something happened?”

“Just a spot of bother my dear, thank you so much for…”  
“It says man is key.” Anathema interrupted. “Man of _spells._ Do you know any other witches? Maybe it means me - we can help?”

“I really think…” Aziraphale stopped, considering. His angelic instincts were telling him to keep these poor humans _far_ away from any battle with death, to not involve them in anything they didn’t need to see. He’d always been a terrible and selfish angel.

“Yes, actually thank you my dear. I would love for you to help me. I will be with you shortly.”

* * * * * * *

“ _Oh wily trickster lies to wait…_ That means Crowley, obviously.” Anathema was pacing around her small kitchen, prophecy clutched in one hand. If Aziraphale hadn’t been in such a state he would have been admiring the young woman’s composure in a crisis. He’d arrived at her small cottage mere moments after her call, and under her cool gaze had recited the bare bones of the story before she’d agreed to show him the prophecy. They’d been discussing it for the last hour, but weren’t getting very far.

“ _Open thine eyes to use the garden and thine orders…_ ”

“That _must_ be the garden of Eden…” Aziraphale sipped from his second cup of tea. “But not sure about the orders. What’s the next part?”

“ _Stop last of the Four keep hells fire in heaven light.”_

“The last of the four. The last of the four…”

“There’s something familiar….” Anathema stopped in the middle of the carpet, frowning as she stared off into space. “Why does that sound familiar?”

“The four elements? Four points on a compass? The four seasons?”

“Stop last of the four… Winter is the last of the four seasons, but how would you stop winter?”

“Plus, it’s summer.” Frowned Aziraphale, rubbing his head. “There’s four gospels of the Bible?”

“The Bible… The Bible…” Anathema strode over to the kitchen counter where Agnes Nutter’s original book lay. She flicked through, muttering to herself. “Why does that sound so familiar? I know I’ve seen something… Are there any other groups of four in Heaven or Hell?”

“Well… As you know there’s the Four horseman of the Apocalypse, but they’re all gone. Well, all apart from….” Aziraphale gasped, hitting his head with the palm of his hand. “Of course, the last of the four! Death!”

“Of course... But keep hells fire in heaven light?”

“Hells fire _must_ be Crowley. And Heaven... Heaven must be helping…” spat Aziraphale, face twisting in fury. “They must be hiding him.”

“Oh.” Anathema collapsed into the seat opposite the angel, face paling.

“Quite.”

“But if there’s a prophecy, it means we can do something about it… What about the man of spells part?”

“I assume that’s you helping me, my dear….” Sighed Aziraphale deeply. “Crowley is somewhere with Death, helped by heaven. Which is helpful, thank you. I could probably find him, knowing he's been captured by angels. But what am I supposed to _do_ when I get there?”

Anathema lay a cool hand on his, but Aziraphale was already freefalling into despair. Crowley was in danger, and he was sat here drinking _tea_ like the useless, pathetic angel he was. How was it only a week since the Ritz? All those ridiculous daydreams about finally confessing how he felt, about starting a new chapter… The ordering of that ring and everything that it represented. They suddenly felt so out of reach. How was he fit to say he cared for Crowley, that he loved him, when he could not protect him? When he consistently made life so difficult for him? 

The door burst open and Newt walked in, clutching a book, and smiling. He took one look at Aziraphale sat across from Anathema, and the blood rushed from his face.

“Oh no. You. It’s not… it’s not….”

“No more Armageddon, Newt, I promise…” Anathema stood to greet him with a kiss on the cheek. “I am just helping Aziraphale with a little problem with Death.”

“Oh…. Sounds complicated.” He moved to turn on the stove to boil the kettle. “Shame you can’t cast a spell or anything, to make a deal with Death.”

Aziraphale’s heart skipped a beat. “What did you just say?”

“Make a deal with Death….” Newt turned slowly, frowning at the look of intensity on the angel’s face. “I’m reading The Tale of the Three Brothers – about meeting Death and making deals and trying to trick him.”

“The man of spells!” gasped Anathema, grasping for the prophecy and shaking it in the air. “ _Man of spells is key._ You must have to trick Death!”

“Trick Death? I tried that. My memories… No, my dear, you don’t just trick _Death._ How would I even go about such a thing?”

“ _Open thine eyes to use the garden and thine orders…_ You said you were at Eden? It must have something to do with that!”

“Yes…” Aziraphale nodded distractedly. “I was guardian of the Eastern Gate.”

“Guardian of the Eastern Gate…And your orders?”

“Well the Almighty gave me a flaming sword and made me… _Guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden!”_ Aziraphale stood up so fast he sent the cups flying, but didn’t seem to notice. “Oh, I’m such an idiot!”

“What…”

“I know what to do! But I need your help…”


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been looking forward to this chapter since the beginning! May have got a bit carried away and not edited at all... So may have to come back and review at some later point!   
> I am having SO much fun with these idiots. 
> 
> If you can, I suggest listening to Sweet as whole by Sara Bareilles (new to this and have no idea how to post a link... Again, might be updated later if I can figure it out) with this chapter as it's Aziraphale MOOD. Also, it's just great to belt out when you're feeling a bit pissy/ want to imagine singing and swaying in a pub. Trust me (but maybe avoid if you don't like swearing).

Aziraphale wrung his hands nervously as they left the car and approached the church, both trying not to think about what might lie in wait for them and trying to fill his mind with as much Crowley after a week’s absence. It was a difficult balance.

It had taken them two days to find the right place, even with Anathema’s invaluable help, and they’d finally got solid a lead when Aziraphale had felt an unusual amount of angelic presence surrounding an abandoned ruin of a chapel in Wales. He had rushed to it without a second thought, or as fast as Newt’s ridiculous car managed the motorway, trying to feel for Crowley… But there was something strange, blocking his mind like a gaping wound. Not unlike the blankness he’d been chasing for the last week. It made him _ache._

“Wait for Newt…” hissed Anathema, dragging him backwards and behind a wall. “You don’t know what we’ll be facing!”

“I know exactly what I’ll be facing in there, my dear young lady.” He gazed past her, focusing on the building he knew contained Crowley. His hands shook with the effort of composure. “That’s the problem.”

Anathema’s phone vibrated, and she eagerly read the new message. “Newt’s just done a lap of the church. Looks like a ruin, but there’s some sort of old door that looks like it leads to a cellar on one side, and he thinks he can see a light.”

“Rightio.” Aziraphale straightened his bow tie. “And the angels?”

“Doesn’t look like there’s anyone else around.” She pocketed the phone, face setting into a severe determined line. “So, we go in?”

“What? Just like that?” Aziraphale withdrew in horror. There were _procedures_ to follow, things that needed to be checked and worked out. “When I have found out all I can, then I go in.”

“We’ve done this! We go in together, try and distract them. Like we said, like the plan…”

“That was just to get you two to bring me here!” admitted Aziraphale with a grimace. “But I really would prefer it if you stayed nice and safe out here when the time comes.”

“Well… Tough.” She glared at him for a moment, before striding off towards the ruin with her head held high.

“Miss Device!”

But she wasn’t listening.

“Oh for goodness sake…” Aziraphale followed her at a jog, and they passed Newt on his way back from his investigations. He looked startled to see them but joined their high speed trot towards the back of the church. “Miss Device, I must insist….”

“What? That we wait?” she rounded on him, eyes blazing. “You said Mr Crowley always comes to rescue you. Always. Why are you making him wait?”

“It has only been a few days, nothing to us…. I need to make a proper plan, just find the right idea and then I can…”

_“Oh wily trickster lies to wait.”_ Said Anathema. “He’s being held by Death himself, has been for days, and you want him to wait for you even longer?”

Her words hit him like a sharp slap in the face.

Aziraphale wasn’t completely stupid. He knew he was fussy, pretentious, pompous and indulgent. He was well aware that he was pretty much always selfish, that he valued his own comfort amongst (almost) anything else. He also knew that there lay a deep imbalance in his and Crowley relationship. Crowley was always the first, the saviour, the impulse. Aziraphale followed at his own steady pace, always keeping him at arms-length. And whilst the angel did it in self-preservation, not being able to stand being close enough to touch Crowley without _actually touching_ , Crowley did not know that. Crowley might not feel the same way, might not love him, but Aziraphale didn’t miss the way his distance hurt the demon. The damage he’d done in the past few days…. _I don’t even like you._ Crowley’s agonised face as Aziraphale had stared blankly at him without knowing who he was. _Let’s run off together._ Crowley dragging him from danger again and again and again. 

He thought of the ring, the promise he’d made to himself to tell Crowley how he felt after six thousand years of longing. To make Crowley, finally, feel the love he deserved no matter what the consequences.

It was time to stop waiting.

“You’re right…” Aziraphale nodded, taking a deep shuddering breath. “You’re right.”

Anathema gave him a short nod. “Come on then. No time like the present.”

“We’re just going to… What? Walk in there?” Newt looked as convinced by the idea as Aziraphale did. “Stroll into a crypt where Death lies waiting to kick some dust around a demon?”

“Do you have a better idea?” Anathema asked.

“Well, no, but…”

“Then stop complaining, and lets _move_.”

Aziraphale led them round to the two cracked cellar doors at the south face of the ruins, pushing the two humans behind him. With a deep breath his pulled the door open, hands shaking as he took the first step into the dark dankness beyond. A cool corridor stretched out in front of them, twisted around to lead to a wide chamber at the end. Torches lined the damp walls to light the way, but that was nothing to the bright white glow emanating from the room at the end.

“Follow my lead…” whispered Aziraphale, tugging his bow tie askew and starting towards the shining room. It was nothing more than a roughly carved space, probably used as a crude crypt many years ago, stone walls curving into low ceilings that cast shadows across the dirt floor.

Crowley sat in the centre of the room.

It was ridiculous, really. Aziraphale had set out to find and rescue him, to save him from the clutches of Death. He’d thought of nothing else for days, heartsick and worried, mind whirring over every sickening possibility.

But he hadn’t been prepared for the reality of seeing Crowley captured.

The demon was curled in upon himself, head bowed over long legs sticking out at awkward angles. His always perfect red hair was coated with dust and flattened to his face, a pair of shattered glasses abandoned on the floor next to him. Aziraphale’s heart thudded loud and painful as he saw Crowley’s hand cradled to his chest, old blood smeared across his skin and fresh pooling in his palm. What had they _done_ to him? A cry threatened to rip from the angel’s throat, burning through his lungs and he had to bite down on every instinct to remain quiet.

Aziraphale forced himself to look around the room, face tightly controlled, but couldn’t help the stumble backwards as his eyes rested on the hooded figure in the corner.

Death was watching them.

He staggered back into the two humans, gripping Anathema’s wrist to ensure she stayed firmly on the correct path. 

PRINCIPALITY. I KNEW YOU WOULD COME.

“M-me?” Aziraphale went for his best stammer, feeling ridiculous. “I’m so sorry my dear fellow, but who are you?”

“ _Aziraphale_?”

Crowley was staring at him with wide, yellow eyes, pupils mere slits. His face was slack with the shock, hand still cradled tightly against his sternum. Crowley gazed at him in wonder for a few moments, before launching himself at the light circle and pressing his bloody palms into the invisible barrier.

“Aziraphale! You need to get out!”

HOW DELIGHTFUL. I NOW HAVE YOU BOTH.

“No, you can’t have him!” Crowley turned to snarl at Death, teeth barred and eyes burning. “You can’t have him. You can keep me. He doesn’t even _remember._ ”

Aziraphale’s heart twisted painfully in his chest, and he fought for composure. They had a plan, a way to get Crowley out. He just needed to make them think he didn’t remember, just long enough….

“I said, you can have me instead!” Crowley was shouting, trying to force his way out of his light prison. Blood was trickling down his palm and under his dirt smeared sleeve, the sharp contrast of red against his pale skin making Aziraphale feel sick. “Take me, keep me, smite me. Whatever! But leave him. He doesn’t even…” Crowley stopped fighting, pressed his forehead against the light barrier and stared across at Aziraphale. “It’s me you want, he didn’t do anything.”

THEN HE WON’T MIND WATCHING YOU DESTROYED.

“ _No!”_ Aziraphale threw himself towards Crowley as Death advanced, arms stretched wide to shield him. The white circle crackled and hissed against his skin, but he didn’t flinch away. “I’ve just got him back, you can’t take him _again._ Not after all we’ve been through. Not …” Aziraphale turned to look at Crowley, taking in his eyes, the curve of his nose, the sharp line of his jaw. Even like this he was _beautiful._ Strong and shining and brilliant, the brightest star in the universe. Aziraphale loved him, and loved him and loved him. And they would not take him away again. “Not after Armageddon, and France, and Rome and the Blitz…”

“You remember…” Crowley’s voice cracked, yellow eyes were boring into him and flickering across his face for confirmation. “Aziraphale. Please, _please_ say you remember…”

“Yes, yes I remember…” Aziraphale whispered, tears spilling down his cheeks. “I remember everything. I remember you, I remember…”

“Mr Aziraphale, no!” Anathema’s horrified voice echoed around the dark chamber. “The plan! Remember the plan!”

Reality crashed down on them, and Aziraphale dragged his eyes back to Death who was looking at them with something that felt close to glee. The angel cursed himself inwardly, he’d made a mess of everything _again_. He’d lasted mere seconds, already throwing the plan firmly out the window. Well. There was nothing left to hold back now.

“Is that… Is that _book girl?_ ” Crowley asked. “And witchfinder junior?”

THE HUMANS ARE INSIGNIFICANT.

“Hey!”

“Release him.” Aziraphale begged, staring up into Death’s hollow gaze. “Please.”

HE IS MINE.

“No he isn’t, he is _mine_!”

“Oh _Aziraphale._ I’ve seen a lot over the years, but this… Well, this is just embarrassing.”

Aziraphale spun on his heels to see Gabriel and Michael stepping out of the shadows, looking ridiculously pleased with themselves.

“Gabriel… Why are you doing this? You… You tried to stab me!”

“He _what?”_ screeched Crowley.

“Well, it was a golden opportunity.” Gabriel shrugged, clasping his hands behind his back as he walked around to stand on the other side of Death. “Death here wanted you both, so we came to… An understanding. Looks like you got your memories back though. Pity.”

“We even had a room built specially…” sighed Michael, looking genuinely put out. “Such a shame to waste it.”

“But now you remember… Well, we don’t want a fuss.” Gabriel said. “You let him stay here as payment for Death, you take these little humans home and get to keep that silly bookshop. Everyone wins.”

“No.”

Aziraphale had read countless books about love, thousands of stories through the ages about romance, sacrifice, passion. Forbidden love was always, understandably, a favourite read. The inward struggle, the waiting, longing, the _desperation._ He understood those things deep to his core, had seen them from every angle. But the fire of love, the violent action, the destruction and madness of love… Aziraphale had never understood that. To him, love was warm. Love was dangerous, yes, but good and kind and all things beautiful. That’s what made the danger, the risk, worth everything. It was meals at the Ritz, laughing over bottles of Châteauneuf-du-Pape, secret meetings in the Park. It was gentle smiles, bickering, arguing. Love was growing and bursting of life, never destruction.

Aziraphale had never understood the violence of love, until it was about to be ripped from him. But now, Crowley’s agonised eyes and bloody palm pressed into his very soul, he would have quite contently ripped the world apart with his bare hands to save his love. 

He pulled himself ramrod straight, allowing just enough of his true form to flicker through into his human body and release some of the roaring energy pounding through his veins. How dare they take and threaten him? After everything they’d been through, after they’d agreed to leave them alone! How _dare_ they?

“What do you mean, no?” Gabriel laughed. “Are you blind as well as stupid? We have him! Now you can either join him here, back with us in Heaven, or go and take those pesky little humans home. You pick.”

Aziraphale saw red.

“I said _no.”_

He released the ball of vicious energy he clutched close to his chest, spreading his wings wide as thousands of glowing, bleeding eyes erupted across each feather. He flexed them, using the action to mask miracling Anathema and Newt back to the safety of the car, and felt the fury stoke high in his belly.

“ _Release him.”_

“Hey, calm down now Aziraphale…” Gabriel said, stepping back to press himself against the wall. “No need for all this….”

Aziraphale was not like the other angels. He was not fond of fighting, of war, of smiting his enemies. Gabriel called him soft, and he was. He liked sweet things, like bunny rabbits and chocolates and rainbows. He strove to be soft and kind and gentle, to _love._ He knew they saw it as a weakness, as a way to overlook him. He knew the rest of the angels found him ridiculous, that he’d never fit in. It was why he’d been so keen to be posted on Earth in the beginning.

What they didn’t understand, however, was that just because he didn’t like fighting, didn’t mean that he _couldn’t._ Not when it mattered, not when he was _provoked._ And love was really a very brutal way to motivate.

“ _You will release my charge, and leave us be.”_ The ethereal fury in his voice echoed through the chamber, shining from him like a beacon.

“Your charge?” Michael frowned, but he was happy to see her flinch away from him. “Aziraphale, he is the opposition! A demon!”

“ _What is my job title?_ ”

“Your… Your job title?”

YOU ARE A MERE PRINCIPALITY.

“That’s his rank, you idiot!” Crowley rolled his eyes at Death. “He’s Guardian of the Eastern Gate.”

“ _The entire title.”_

_“_ Now is not the time to get pedantic, angel.”

_“What is the title the Almighty bestowed upon me?”_

“Oh for…” Michael sighed, twisting her hand to grasp a piece of paper with golden lettering. “You are Aziraphale: Guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden.”

Aziraphale smiled, the golden light emanating from his being glinting, and nodded. He pulled his wings back in with a rush, eyes closing as everything shrank back behind his human form. The two eyes he opened were their normal shining blue, but there was none of the usual kind light. Six thousand years of love and life and fury burnt behind them, and it was all directed at the Archangels.

“Thank you, Michael.” He was all sweetness and manners. “Guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden. And what do you think the Almighty’s intentions for me were, when she entrusted this position to me?”

“To… Guard Eden. Which you did a terrible job of, by the way.” Gabriel said.

“To guard Eden.” Aziraphale beamed. Glowed. “And are there any exceptions?”

“To _Eden?_ ” Michael asked. “No.”

“So I was to protect all inhabitants?”

“Yes.”

“Humans?”

“Obviously.”

“Plants?”

“Well… I guess..”

“Animals?”

“Yes.”

“Then as the Guardian of Eden, I ask you very kindly to release my charge.” Aziraphale nodded to Crowley, who was staring at him with his mouth hanging open. “The Serpent of Eden.”

“ _What_?”

“The Serpent of Eden.” Repeated Aziraphale gently. “You are harming something the She entrusted me to protect. Something _from_ Eden. Unless you’ve changed your mind and think the Almighty has exceptions?”

“I seriously doubt the Almighty included a _demon_ in your list of duties.” Michael scoffed. “I mean, don’t be ridiculous!”

“I don’t know about you, but I don’t think it’s wise to call the Almighty ridiculous…” said Crowley.

“You don’t get to tell us what to do!” Shouted Gabriel, spit flying from his lips in his rage. “How _dare_ you tell an archangel what the Almighty meant!”

“I was only saying…”

“Well _don’t!”_

IS THIS TRUE? Death turned to Gabriel and Michael. WAS HE TRULY ASKED TO GUARD ALL OF EDEN?

“Well, yes, but…” Michael started, but stopped as Death raised a long arm. It felt like a sigh.

RELEASE THE CHARGE.

“But…”

RELEASE HIM.

Michael and Gabriel exchanged dark looks, but each gave a sharp nod. Growling with frustration, Gabriel waved a hand and the summoning circle surrounded Crowley disappeared. The demon, who had been pressed against it to see better, toppled forward with an undignified squeak. He immediately sprang up, swaggering over to the angels with snarl.

“Crowley, no!” Aziraphale shouted in warning, grabbing him before he reached them and pulling him away. Whatever else had happened, they might still smite him if he attacked.

ALLOW THIS TO BE A LESSON. Death nodded, and vanished with a crack.

“This has _really_ ruined my day.” Gabriel scowled at the spot Death had been standing moments before. “Such a waste of opportunities…”

“I would _hate_ to think I’d ruined the day of the dick and queen of the high horse parade.” Aziraphale sighed. “How would I live with myself?”

_“Angel!”_ Crowley gasped, but he looked delighted. Aziraphale couldn’t hide his smile, but managed to turn it into a glare as he fixed his eyes on Heaven’s finest. His blood still boiled, fury pounding through every cell in his body. He could feel his control slipping, his true form rippling under his skin threatening to spill out and destroy.

“I hope this means you will well and truly leave us _alone_ now.” His voice shook, red eyes flashing up and down his arms as he thrummed with emotion. His concentration was cracking with the effort, and he focused on the feel of the demon’s warmth next to him in order to pull himself back together. That’s why he did this. That’s what he’d got to lose. “I want nothing more to do with any of you. I. Am. Done _._ ”

“Why?” Michael was staring at him, eyes wide. “Why are you so interested in this… This demon?”

In the end, it was as easy as breathing. He glanced up at Crowley standing tall and proud beside him, glaring down two Archangels like it was nothing, like he hadn’t just spent days in a prison of light held there by Death himself. Aziraphale looked into his strong, beautiful face and the truth tumbled from his lips without a second thought.

“Because I love him.”

“You _what?”_

“I love him.” Aziraphale grasped Crowley’s hands and stared up into his friend’s shocked face. Years of anticipation, years of longing and watching and _waiting._ He stared up at his most beloved thing in the universe, the thing he held above all else and just couldn’t contain it anymore. “I do. I love you, I _love you_ Crowley. Am in love with you. I don’t expect anything, but I love…”

“Yes, yes, I _know…”_ Crowley interrupted with a hiss, eyes wide. “Tell the whole world why don’t you…”

“What do you mean you know?” Aziraphale drew back as if he’d been slapped. “You _know?”_

“Disgusting!”

Aziraphale had forgotten the other angels were still there, forgotten everything other than Crowley’s hands in his. They were staring at them both with revulsion and loathing, and Aziraphale felt another rush of anger. He would not be ashamed of his feelings, not any longer.

“I do. I love him.”

“Aziraphale, just shut up!” Crowley said, rolling his eyes. “Pleasure to see you again, _dudes,_ hope we don’t have to all suffer it any time soon.” Crowley fixed a dangerous smile to the angels, making a familiar thrill run through Aziraphale at the sight. He pushed it deep into his gut, knowing he probably should be ashamed of such a reaction. Instead he fixed his own hateful glare in their direction, and moved even closer to his demon. “And remember, I may not have a title, may not officially be a guardian, but I _will_ protect him. So stay away. Ciao!”

In a flare of heaven’s light, the two archangels ascended, leaving Aziraphale and Crowley standing together alone in the cool dark space.

“Let’s get out of here…” Crowley grasped Aziraphale’s wrist and tugged him back up the corridor and through the doors into the blazing sunshine. The bright blue skies stretched above them, and Aziraphale stared up at it for a few moments in pure relief before fixing his gaze back to Crowley with his very softest and adoring smile.

“You, are an absolute idiot.”

Not really the reaction he’d been hoping for.

“I just saved you!” retorted the angel. “A little gratitude goes a long way, you know.”

“Only because you wouldn’t stay in your bloody shop.”

“Only… Crowley, I couldn’t remember anything! I was terrified!”

Crowley crumpled slightly. “Angel…”

“I know, I know, a prize fool…” Aziraphale tried a little smile, and was rewarded by a growing softness in those yellow eyes. “Thank you, my dear, for keeping me safe when I wasn’t quite myself.”

“Anytime, angel. Anytime.” The softness spread across his face, lifting the corner of his mouth. It was like standing in front of a sunrise, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but lean into it’s warmth. “How did you get them back?”

“Oh, well…” Aziraphale recounted the story of the last few days, trying not to feel too happy at the look of murderous hatred on Crowley’s face when he spoke about being stabbed. He glossed over a lot of the details of his rushing around London and cataloguing his memories, Crowley had seen evidence of that and didn’t think he could relive the embarrassment, and quickly caught up to the present moment. “… And that’s how we found you. Oh! Poor Miss Device! I miracled them to safety, I do hope…”

“Where’s the car?”

“Oh, in the car park behind…” But Aziraphale didn’t need to finish the sentence, Crowley set off in the direction of the car. “Oh, thank you.”

“Shaddup, angel.” He shook his head, but there was no sting in the admonishment. “So that’s how you got them back but… How did they take them in the first place?”

“Who take what, my dear?”

“Your _memories,_ Aziraphale, do keep up. How did the angels take you memories? And _why?”_

“Oh.” Aziraphale clutched his hands nervously and stared down at his feet. “Oh, well.. That wasn’t the angels. Well, in a way I suppose it was. That, er, that was me.”

Crowley stopped, turning to face him with wide shocked eyes. “What do you mean, it was you?”

“I, er, tucked away my memories.”

“You… You did that? You _erased me?”_ Crowley was staring at him, and Aziraphale was horrified to see the real pain tightening his features. He so rarely got to see Crowley without his glasses, so open and unguarded that to see those eyes so full of hurt cut deep at his throbbing heart.

“To save you!” Aziraphale cried, clutching his arm. “Death threatened to take you, take you from me to weaken you, and I couldn’t let that happen!”

“So, what, you…”

“I tucked you away.”

“Where?”

“Oh. Eden.

“You… Tucked me away in Eden.”

“Safest place I know, my dear…” Aziraphale smiled, wishing he could reach out to touch him. “It’s still beautiful, you know. Bit wilder, but so alive.”

“Well, maybe we can go on holiday or something.” Crowley shrugged turning to carry on down the path but Aziraphale grasped his sleeve.

“Crowley…” Aziraphale muttered softly, hands trembling. He took a deep breath, and forced himself to look into those bright yellow eyes. He’d always admired them, even at the very beginning, and looking into them now gave him the last push he needed. “What I said… I meant it. I love you Crowley.”

“Well, yes, I know…” Crowley looked down at him curiously. “Are you ok? Did something else happen when you forgot?”

“You _know?”_ Aziraphale’s voice cracked. “How long have you known?”

“Well, I’ve known known since the Blitz, but suspected…”

“The Blitz.” Aziraphale felt like the world was crumbling under his feet, like he was dancing the gavotte on sinking sand. “You’ve known I’ve been in love with you since the Blitz and you _didn’t think to mention it?_ ”

“I didn’t think I had to!” Crowley said, throwing his hands in the air. His eyes widened, something else flashing across his face. “Do you… Do you want _me_ to say it?”

“What?”

“I mean, I guess I can… Might be weird, but I can probably get used to it if you want me to.”

Oh. So this is what heartbreak felt like. Aziraphale let his hands fall to his side, mouth dry as the weight of the truth settled deep in his chest. It pressed down on his heart, the shred of hope that he’d clung to all these years crumbling to dust. Though he’d thought he’d prepared himself for this eventuality, thought he’d built a wall around himself to love Crowley without reciprocation, the knowledge was far more painful than he could ever have imagined.

“Of course not, my dear.” Aziraphale’s voice cracked and shook, but he managed a small watery smile. “I would never dream of making you do anything. I don’t expect anything in return. I just… Wanted you to know. That is all.”

“Oh.”

Aziraphale started off down the path again, biting on his lips to try and stem the tears threatening to overflow down his cheeks.

“Are you sure? You look…”

“Please Crowley, it’s fine…” Aziraphale sniffed, trying to pull himself together as he could feel Crowley start to follow him again. “I am awfully sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable. I won’t mention it again.”

“No, I don’t mind. “Crowley shrugged. “You just took me my surprise, that’s all. Maybe try again? I’ll get used to it.”

“Please, Crowley, don’t.”

“I’m just saying, I can be flexible. It was… Not horrible.”

“My eternal ambition, for my declaration of love to be _not horrible_ …” Aziraphale couldn’t help the retort, agony radiating through his entire being. How could he have thought this a good idea? How could he have thought Crowley would have received such a declaration with anything less than derision?

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I have no idea what you meant, you’re a demon.”

“Angel, wait…” Crowley reached out to stall him, and Aziraphale reluctantly let himself be spun back to face him. “You’re upset. I’m sorry. You can say it whenever you like, and I can too if that’s what you want.”

“Why would I want you to tell me that you love me?” Aziraphale swallowed thickly, the words ripped from his throat, and he thought his heart might suddenly appear in his hands to be twisted apart. It definitely wasn’t in his chest anymore. “Why would you to lie to me about that?”  
“To… Angel, what are you on about? Why would I be lying? Just because it’s not my language doesn’t mean it means any less.” Crowley stared down at him, eyes gentle, before taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry. You know I love you too.”

“You’re language? Please, Crowley, now you’re just being cruel…”

“Cruel? Angel, I just…”

“Stop!” Aziraphale begged, closing his eyes as tears spilled down his cheeks. “I know you’re trying to be kind, Crowley, but it’s too painful to pretend. I know it’s different for you, being a demon. Please. Let’s just get back to the car and find Miss Device and her young man.”

“What do you mean, pretend?”

“Crowley, _please._ I don’t want you to pretend to feel anything you don’t. I treasure our… Arrangement. Well, your company, too much for that.” He offered him a sad smile that ached all the way down to his very soul. “We can forget all about it.”

Aziraphale set off down the path again, taking deep shuddering breaths to calm himself as the car came in to view. Anathema and Newt were sitting inside, and waved furiously at him when they could see him approach.

“Oh dear, I must have locked them in the car…” Aziraphale muttered, snapping his fingers to unlock the car door as he turned to speak to Crowley. But he wasn’t there.

He turned back to see Crowley standing where he left him back down the path, staring at Aziraphale like he’d been slapped. His eyes were wide and unfocused, and he swayed unsteadily on his feet.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale approached him slowly. “What is it? Are you hurt?”

“The Arrangement.” 

“What?”

“You said our arrangement. Like that…” Crowley’s face was twisted horribly. “Like that’s all it’s ever been. That I don’t… Like you think I don’t…”

“Don’t know what? Crowley, you’re really not making sense…”

“You do.” He swayed, staring at Aziraphale like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. “You think I don’t.”

“Don’t _what?”_

“Don’t love you.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale shouted, not being able to contain his frustration. “I have apologised, now please can you just drop it?”

“But I do.”

“I think I would have noticed.”

Crowley laughed, high and hysterical. He brought his bloodied hands to his face, pressing them over his mouth to muffle the sound but it still echoed up into the sky. He bent double, laughter cracking and changing as he bent in on himself. Anathema and Newt were approaching, but stumbled to a stop at the sight of the demon breaking in front of them.

“Yes…” Crowley choked out around the laughter. “Yes, well, clearly not. What did you think this was, Aziraphale? Do you think I go around saving all my colleagues? Do you think I watch out for _Hastur_ when he trots off to the post office?”

“You’ve always saved me! Always helped me! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for centuries, Crowley, that you’re a good person! That you’re nice, and kind…”

“I am not nice!” he roared, staggering forward to grip the angel tightly by his lapels and drag him close. Aziraphale didn’t flinch, didn’t back away. “I am never _nice._ I do it for you, you absolute _moron,_ only for you.”

“Because you’re kind to me!”

“Because I fucking love you, angel, you complete and utter pillock. You idiotic, insensitive, selfish clod!”

“But…” Aziraphale’s head was whirring, he couldn’t keep up. “But you said…”

“ _Words._ Not my language. Let me show you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the lovely comments and kudos! It's kept me going, can't wait for the last two big chapters. You know what's coming....


	9. Chapter 9

“ _Because I fucking love you, angel, you complete and utter pillock. You idiotic, insensitive, selfish clod!”_

Crowley stared at Aziraphale, at the one constant that had kept him company all these long years, willing him to understand. How could he _not know_? After all these years, all the times Crowley had saved him, the presents, the dinners, the smiles… How could Aziraphale not _feel_ this aching pounding love that consumed him, reformed him, breathed life into him? The one ceaseless fact across six thousand years, and Aziraphale did not _know_?

He could have used being a demon to excuse his words away, the cutting nature of insulting should have been intentional, but it was just _true_ goddammit _._ Aziraphale was a determined fool, and Crowley wanted to shake him until his head rattled.

In contrast Crowley had always been curious, had been made that way. He often thought it was a sick joke, to be created to ask, to prod and poke and wonder… And then to be thrown out of heaven for that very reason. It didn’t seem fair, somehow, for something so core in his very nature be something labelled _bad,_ labelled evil.

Then he’d been stationed on Earth, and it didn’t seem to matter so much. There were _so many_ new things to learn, to examine, to explore. Heaven was bright and empty and still, but humans were so clever - always creating and inventing. So he searched out for the kindred spirits across the centuries; Leonardo Da Vinci, Nikola Tesla, Johannes Gutenberg, Hedy Lamar, so many bright thinkers, moving forward to learn, to find, to _know._ In his most self-indulgent moments, those normally entered after several bottles of nice wine alone in his flat, he took a little credit for all their work. Just a speck. Wasn’t he, the Serpent of Eden, the start of all this? The ignition? If pride had been his forte, though that had always been more Aziraphale, he might have thought so. Instead, he tried to make an example, to continue pushing and tearing at the edges of everything he could get his hands upon.

So when it came to revelations, when it came to prodding something uncomfortable, well, Crowley was an expert. Even when that prodding came to Crowley himself.

It had been a shock, to say the least, to discover he was head over heels in love with the angel in 1609. But he’d recovered, poked at the feeling until it unfurled and showed itself casting back through the ages. Really, which was the most embarrassing, from the beginning. He’d been blind to ignore it for so long. And he might have been slow to catch on, but Aziraphale was a literal angel. Was made of love and brightness, to adore and be adored. He must have noticed, felt it, must have caught on eons back, and just allowed the demon to blindly stumble after him. To catch up when he was good and ready.

The arguments, the falling out, the _fraternising,_ and _I don’t even like you_ , _you go too fast for me,_ had never really bothered Crowley. They both knew (he’d thought) about the connection they shared, both knew they had to be careful. What did silly little words matter, when it was all so concrete, so certain? Their love was the foundation of everything, the very core of Crowley’s being. The bright constant that shone on the darkest days, that kept him warm each trip to hell and kept him sane in those lonely years alone. To know that despite everything, despite how unworthy Crowley was for the job, that Aziraphale was loved more than any other being in existence. And that he, Crowley, was allowed to have some of that in return.

But now… But now…

Aziraphale was staring at him, his shining blue eyes red and wet with frustration, shame, hurt. It was agony, almost unbearable, and Crowley was still half in disbelief. How had this _happened?_ How could he have messed up so badly, to not see this coming?

Because he could see it now. The way Aziraphale only let his softest smile out when he thought Crowley wasn’t paying attention, the distance, the pushing away, the _you’re so kind_ and _to the world._ Even the possessive nickname that Crowley loved so much, _my dear,_ could be masked as an archaic pleasantry. All cloaked and secret, Crowley had assumed that was just how Aziraphale was. How he loved – safe and careful.

Crowley had never even thought to imagine that all these things were Aziraphale trying to _hide_ how he felt, and not just from heaven. The reason he never touched Crowley, the reason he always had an excuse to meet up or call, the reason he always cried when they watched Romeo and Juliet. Revelation after revelation poured through Crowley, guilt and rage and frustration pounding through his veins. The only thing keeping him upright was the grounding instinct to make Aziraphale better, to make him smile. The angel thought he stood alone, untethered and without a home, he thought he was _unloved_. And it was Crowley’s fault.

“But…But you said…”

“ _Words.”_ Spat Crowley, forcing some of the unbearable anger back at the angel. _“_ Not my language. Let me show you.”

He released his lapels to grasp his shoulders, pulling him in to transport them and fixed his eyes on the angel’s wide blue gaze. He needed to get this right. He needed to make him see, once and for all.

They suddenly stood in the bookshop, knocking over two stacks of precariously piled books by the door. Aziraphale had been leaning forward, pressing himself closer to Crowley, but withdrew sharply as he took in their change of surroundings.

“Crowley!” he snapped, looking flushed and annoyed. “We’ve just abandoned those poor two humans, after everything…”

“They’ll live, I need to show you…”

“No Crowley, I _must_ ring them at once, and let them know. We vanished into thin air!” The hot flush was growing down Aziraphale’s neck and he stalked off in search of the telephone. Crowley sighed and followed him, not bothering to argue as he was going in the right direction anyway.

Aziraphale paused for a fraction of a second when he approached the desk, taking in the piles of books and items across the space, before marching over to the telephone and grasping it with such force he nearly pulled it onto the floor.

“Miss Device?” Aziraphale’s clipped phone voice filled the small space, and he was staring fixedly at a point far above Crowley’s head. “Yes, I’m so… No, we’re absolutely fine. Yes. Yes, he’s here too. Well, thank you my dear but…. Of course. Well, I am sure we would be delighted. See you then.”

He replaced the receiver and slumped against the desk, still not looking at Crowley.

“She has asked us to drop by next week, to fill her and Mr Pulsifer in on the details.”

“What, us visit book girl? Like… Like go for tea?”

“I am sure she will understand if you don’t want to…”

“I didn’t say that.” Interrupted Crowley. “I want to go. I didn’t get to thank her.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale nodded. “Well… Thank you. I’m sure it will be appreciated.”

They stood in silence for a few moments, Crowley watching Aziraphale carefully as he fidgeted and twitched. There was blood smeared on the shoulders and cuffs of his sleeves, put there by Crowley’s own determinedly open wound, tear tracks in the dirt on his face. He had never looked less like the clean-cut angels in heaven, and Crowley adored him.

“Angel…” he prompted softly, stepping forward to be closer to the desk. He let his fingers tenderly brush over some of the original sheet music from Carnival of the Animals before resting on a blue winged scarab he vaguely remembered stealing to tell Aziraphale had looked like him. He hadn’t seen him for decades after but kept it in his pocket just in case, and it had been hard to pass off as nonchalant even then. It had been worth it for the few moments of spluttered indignation followed by laughter and getting drunk on the banks of the Nile.

“Yes.” Aziraphale drew himself up, eyes skirting over Crowley’s face before fixing securely on his left ear. “Yes, let’s get this… Well, what did you want to show me?”

“This.” Crowley gestured around him with shaking hands, palms still red. “Just… All this.”

“My… My shop?” Aziraphale’s voice trembled, a touch of impatience shining through, and he was still determinately staring straight ahead of him. “I know what’s in my shop.”

“Not the shop. The stuff here. On the desk. In this room.” 

“Please, Crowley…”

“No, you’re not _looking.”_ Crowley growled with frustration, gripping the corner of the desk. “I’m trying to show you!”

“Ok, yes!” Aziraphale shouted, finally meeting Crowley’s eyes. “I kept all these things of you! When I couldn’t remember, I wandered around the shop and some things felt empty, like looking at you.” Crowley flinched. “I did the same thing around London, walking around until I found something I didn’t remember. I didn’t realise until after that….” He dropped his head, hands reaching out to run over a copy of Hamlet. “That it was all things that are _you_. I kept you, surrounded myself in things I’d taken from you.”

“No, you didn’t…” Crowley insisted, impatience taking over sense as he almost climbed over the desk to stand next to Aziraphale. He was still missing it, still looking at it from only one side. “You didn’t take this stuff. I _gave_ it all to you.”

“What does that…”

“This copy of Hamlet.” Interrupted Crowley. “Where is it from?”

“Oh, you left it here in 1723.”

“This clock?”

“You stole it from Versailles…” A slight glare of disapproval. “Along with some silverware, a piece of a chandelier and a nine-foot orange tree.”

“Well, I was clearly making up for lost time. What about this?” Crowley grabbed The Count of Monte Cristo. “This?” Pushed a silver pocket watch across the desk. “ _This?_ ” Gestured to the ridiculous wooden duck.

“You… You left them here.”

“I gave them to you.” Crowley amended, picking up the copy of Hamlet and pressing it into the angel’s grasp. “Always picking you up presents. Coming when you need me.”

“Oh. But…”

“ _Words.”_ Crowley said, eyes burning. “I didn’t realise I _had_ to put it into words, angel. I thought it had always been blindingly obvious.”

“What was obvious?” Aziraphale asked in a small voice. His eyes were wide and searching, and Crowley’s blooming heart did a great lurch in his chest. This. This is why all this would be worth it.

“That I love you.” Crowley smiled, a fragile hopeful thing. “That I’ve pretty much always loved you.”

“ _Crowley…”_ Aziraphale sobbed, reaching a hand to Crowley’s cheek but pausing just before they touched. “Can... Can I touch you?”

“Of course.” He breathed. “Anything, angel, anything you like.”

Trembling fingers skated across his cheekbone and Crowley lent into the touch like a starved man, eyes fluttering closed as electricity thrummed through his skin. It felt incredible. The box in his mind started to shudder, centuries of not being able to feel shuddering in each cell, and then exploded open as a pair of soft wet lips pressed against his own.

“ _Ngk!”_

Crowley drew back in shock, eyes flying open. His heart was thundering so hard in his chest he thought it might burst from him and escape. Aziraphale had kissed him. Aziraphale had just _kissed him._

“I’m sorry, I thought…!” Aziraphale was stepping backwards, face blotchy and drooping into unhappiness again. “I do apologise…”

“Nch! No!” Crowley grabbed him, tried to scramble around in his brain to find the words, any words that would stop Aziraphale looking like that. “Just. Shocked. S’all good.”

Aziraphale tried to take another step back, wringing his hands and looking stricken. “It’s ok if…”

“ _No.”_ Crowley reached out to pull Aziraphale back towards him, taking a moment to grasp his hands. They were beautiful hands, soft and cared for. _Treasured._ Crowley wanted to treasure them, too. Wanted to worship any part of him he was allowed. Slowly, haltingly, he raised Aziraphale’s hands to his lips and pressed a light kiss to each knuckle. He looked up into the angel’s face, mouth still pressed to the skin of his thumb and gasped at the raw longing in his gaze. “I always thought you didn’t like to be touched… Angels don’t, as a rule. So I never did.” He murmured, rubbing his cheek against the back of Aziraphale’s hand, revelling in the softness of his skin. “But you like it.”

“I couldn’t risk it…” Aziraphale whispered, moving to cradle Crowley’s face. The rough pad of his thumb ran tenderly across his cheekbone. “I didn’t think I would be able to stop.”

Crowley closed his eyes, revelling in the feel of Aziraphale in his arms, strong and whole and _alive._ This was so different to any other time they’d touched, but Crowley could feel the echoes of each brush of fingers, each handshake, every grasp in the familiar tenderness of Aziraphale’s fingers.

“I love you.” Whispered Crowley, needing to make sure the point got across, needing to make sure the angel _knew_. That he never forgot. “I’m going to try and kiss you now.”

He waited for the tiniest nod of permission before he gazed down at the glowing angel and lay a tender kiss on his lips. Crowley had never kissed anyone before, but had seen humans to it countless times. He puckered, trying to remember how it had felt a few moments ago as the angels mouth grazed his, and lay a single soft brush before he pulled away. It was good, good to feel Aziraphale so close, good to hear his breath and the heat radiating from his body. He could get used to it.

“Was that ok?” Crowley murmured, his nose grazing alongside the angel’s.

“ _Yes…”_ breathed Aziraphale, pressing his lips back to Crowley’s.

For a second it was the same, a mere press. Until Aziraphale lifted his hands to the back of Crowley’s head and dug his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. Crowley shivered, the sensation rippling across his skin, his mouth relaxing from its determined pucker. Aziraphale hummed in approval, before sucking Crowley’s lower lip into his mouth. It was… _Oh._ This was different. Heat pooled in Crowley’s abdomen and he clutched tightly at the angel, remaining stock still as he let Aziraphale press their mouths together again and again. After a few moments Crowley tentatively moved his own lips and was instantly rewarded by a breathy little sigh as Aziraphale pulled him closer.

 _This_. It was a bit wet, but oh so soft and warm and _glorious._ Crowley wanted to pull him closer, cover Aziraphale in thousands of kisses if he’d hold him like this, if he’d continue to sigh and murmur in his arms. He had no idea how long they stood there, pressed together and breathing as one. After what felt both like mere seconds and an eternity, Aziraphale pulled backwards to gaze up into Crowley’s face. He was… He was _breath-taking._ Crowley had never seen him so close before, had rarely been able to see those bright blue eyes without the slight tint of his glasses. Aziraphale was smiling bright and radiant, he was glowing, and Crowley soaked it all up with reverence.

“I love you.” He whispered again, a thrill shooting down his spine at the pure joy emanating from his angel’s face. He would say it a thousand times each day to be rewarded with that look. “I do. And that was…”

“I love you… I’m sorry it took me so long to… Oh!” Aziraphale jumped backwards, eyes searching the desk before he grasped something. It the was tiny box, the one thing laid out on the desk that Crowley didn’t recognise. “Here. This is for you.”

“You… You got me a present?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because…” Aziraphale placed the box in his palm, and gestured to the cluttered room they stood in, filled with countless presents, from countless places across the years. “I need to catch up.”

“It’s not a competition, Aziraphale.”

“Open the damn box, my dear.”

Crowley grinned, and flipped open the lid. A golden ring glistened in the half light. A snake twisted around and in on itself, diamond eyes winking, old, delicately carved, and completely flawless. He would have accused the angel of miracling it up, but experience had taught him that only humans were capable of that sort of precision. 

“I…” Crowley didn’t know what to say. No one had ever given him a present before, it’s not exactly the thing that’s done in hell. He tried to remember how humans reacted, what to say to express the strange bundle of emotions that surged in his chest at the thought of Aziraphale looking at this perfect thing and thinking of _him_.

“Isn’t the ouroboros a fertility symbol?”

That probably _wasn’t_ what people normally said.

“Well, technically yes…” Aziraphale laughed, but he looked pleased. “But it’s also a symbol about rebirth, and eternity. And, well, it’s a snake.”

“Oh.”

Crowley lifted the ring from its cushion, running his fingers over it to feel the perfect detail. He slid it carefully onto his thumb, the serpents head nestled as if it was made to fit there, and felt a lump rise to his throat. He stared up at Aziraphale, searching for a way to explain the glorious ache in his throat, but he didn’t need to. Aziraphale was smiling at him, tenderness overflowing from his essence. Crowley should have hated it, as a demon, but he just wanted more and more and more.

Instead, he tentatively wrapped his arms around Aziraphale and pulled him close, pressing his face into his warm neck and inhaling. He had that faint metallic angelic smell, but that was mostly masked parchment, wood fires and honey sweetness. Like home.

“I’m glad you like it, my darling.” Murmured Aziraphale, pressing his lips softly into the side of Crowley’s hair. He sneezed, laughing softly, and pulled away. “Though maybe we should get you cleaned up. You’re very… Dusty.”

“You’re one to talk…” Crowley gestured at his tattered shirt and dirty face. “I can miracle the blood out of your shirt if you want, I know you don’t like to do it yourself.”

“Blood?” Aziraphale’s face puckered, and then cleared in horror. He grasped Crowley’s hands, turning them over and gasping. “Your hands! They’re still bleeding!”

“Oh, that was me.” Crowley rubbed his hands together, the wound instantly healing and the blood disappearing. Was it wrong that he was a little crestfallen to give up even that little morbid bit of Aziraphale? Probably. Almost definitely. “They’re all fine now.”

“Why did you hurt your hands?”

“I just..." Crowley shrugged, not meeting his eye. "Most of the blood was yours. You must have disappeared off to Eden by the time I got there, but I found where you’d… Where Gabriel had…”

“Oh my dear I’m so sorry…” Aziraphale rubbed his cheek. “That must have been unpleasant.”

“ _Unpleasant?_ ” Crowley growled, the memory of Aziraphale’s blood in the dust taking the wind from under him. “Angel you were gone. Gone again, and it was my… I couldn’t leave you out there in the mud. You’re supposed to be with _me,_ always. Every bit of you.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry, morbid I know. Demon after all.” Crowley rubbed his face. “Let me clean your shirt…”

“No.” Aziraphale drew back, his arms bracketed protectively over his shoulders. “No.”

“What? Why? It will take…”

“ _No,_ Crowley.” Aziraphale raised his chin. “This is yours. And I don’t want any of it taken away.” 

Crowley looked at Aziraphale for a long moment, taking in his strong defiant gaze, his wild dirt-streaked hair. He watched Aziraphale run his hand tenderly over the patch of sleeve speckled with blood, and let out a strangled cry before surging forward and pressing his lips desperately to the angel’s. It was less kissing more aching need for closeness, clutching his face and pressing every inch of himself against his love. In a moment Aziraphale responded in kind, surging to press him against the desk, strong arms reaching around his back to bracket them tightly together, lips leaving his mouth to press hot desperate kisses across Crowley’s jaw and down the curve of his throat.

The demon clung tighter, fisting the thin material of Aziraphale’s shirt as a choked gasp was ripped from him. He was shaking, trembling, falling apart under the careful attention of hands and lips and cheeks, every tiny ache for touch not prepared for the tidal wave of Aziraphale whispering love across his skin. It was like freefalling, drowning, smothering. His throat burned, heart surging in his ears as the kisses slowed, the embrace tightened. Aziraphale was gripping him firmly, rubbing slow soothing circles across his back. It was only then that Crowley realised he was crying. No, sobbing, howling. He tried to pull away and hide, but Aziraphale held him tighter, keeping him in place between his body and the desk, and he’d never been a match for the angel’s strength.

“I’ve got you...” he was murmuring, lips moving against his skin. “You’re ok. I’m ok.”

Crowley surrendered to him.

After a small eternity, Crowley came back to himself, breathing in the deep comforting smell of Aziraphale who was still holding him ever so tightly. Face burning, he tried to move, to twist out from behind the desk but it was like trying to force his way through iron.

“Angel?” he said, voice muffled into his shirt. “Can I, er, move now?”

“Oh.” Aziraphale moved back enough to look deep into Crowley’s face, eyes scanning over his red face with a worry. “You look tired, my darling.”

“Bloody exhausted.” Agreed Crowley. “Hell of a week. And I should know.” 

“Come on then.” Aziraphale stepped back and took Crowley’s hand to lead him up to the flat. “Let me show you where the bathroom is.”


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me far too long to write as I got distracted by a new idea. Sort of earning that rating, but gently!

Crowley had been to the bookshop countless times since it opened, but never upstairs to the flat. He allowed himself to be pulled up the stairs and through a door onto a small landing, leading to a bathroom, small kitchen and even a _bedroom._ Everywhere was covered in books; piled on the stairway, in each doorway, stacked beside the bed. It looked more like extended storage than a flat, and Crowley had to fight to keep the smile from his face.

“I don’t actually come up here all that much…” Aziraphale frowned, as if reading his mind. “Sorry it’s a bit of a mess, not made for visitors. The bathroom is here. I have… Well, I have a sink or bath if you want it to get cleaned up.” He pushed the door to the bathroom to reveal a large clawfoot bathtub and a chipped sink with a gilt mirror hanging on the wall. It was probably the only book free space in the entire building, but there was a record player in the corner and a little table next to the tub. It immediately conjured a sharp image of Aziraphale relaxing in the hot water, eyes closed as he listened to music. He’d have a glass of fine wine or brandy at his elbow, and a carefully selected handful of indecently rich chocolates. Something deep in Crowley ached with the image, and he suddenly wanted to buy the angel boxes from all the chocolatiers in London.

“You could have a bath, if you wanted?” prompted Aziraphale gently, when Crowley didn’t make move towards either option.

Crowley just nodded, part of him wanting to protest and just will himself clean but exhaustion weighed heavy on his bones and he couldn’t seem to muster the strength. Aziraphale gently pushed passed him and turned on the taps to start filling the bath. Clouds of lavender and rose scented steam instantly started to fill the room, the metallic taste of a miracle on the air, and Crowley could already feel some of the tension roll out of his shoulders as the water line rose up the tub.

Breathing deep, he took a few steps closer to the bath and toed off his shoes and socks. Scales had erupted along his feet and up his ankles, the stress of the week taking its toll on the separation of his forms, and they were already calling out for the relief of the hot water. Shedding his jacket and lying it on the small table, he peeled off the grimy shirt and frowned at the spattering of scales that trailed from his stomach up his chest. If it had travelled this far up his body he knew his legs would be half covered with them, but he was too drained to reign it in. It hadn’t been this bad in a while, not since… Well, he was sure it probably _would_ have been if he’d inspected himself a week ago but he hadn’t exactly had the chance to see what lay beneath his clothes in all the guarding and protecting.

“Oh!” 

Crowley glanced up to find Aziraphale’s wide eyes fixed on the cluster of scales circling his belly button, starkly black against his pale skin. He instinctively drew his arm protectively across his stomach and cleared his throat.

“S’just a couple of scales, happens sometimes.” Crowley gave a one-armed shrug. “I’ll have them under control in a bit. You can… You don’t have to stay.”

Aziraphale took a few steps closer, pausing only as he reached out to grab Crowley’s arm. “Do they hurt?”

“Nah, just look a bit ghastly.”

“No…” Aziraphale moved Crowley’s arm and ran his eyes over the bare expanse of his chest and stomach. “You were always a very lovely snake my dear.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, angel.”

“Well, maybe with you.” Aziraphale grinned. “Can I keep you company? I can grab us a bottle of something.” 

His hand reached out to run a finger over a collection of scales near Crowley’s hip, and Crowley’s mind stuttered to a grinding halt. Warmth blossomed along the path of his fingers, and he stared open mouthed as Aziraphale looked expectedly at him and cupped his hip bone with a warm palm. Had there been a question? An instruction? He tried to focus on anything other than the acute reality that _Aziraphale was touching him again._ Was this just how it was going to be from now on? Casual touches, when he didn’t have time to prepare? How was he supposed to withstand it? How would he ever do without it? His mind was scattered and scrambling with each sensation after denied for so long, and nothing else seemed to sink through. Crowley nodded, not really sure what he was supposed to be agreeing to and was rewarded with one of the special beaming smiles that made his heart soar. It didn’t help.

Aziraphale squeezed him gently before stepping back. Crowley arched towards his touch like a plant starved of light; somehow instantly hating his own neediness and craving more of the angel’s warm tenderness. 

“I’ll be right back, my dear.”

Crowley stared after him for about 30 seconds before shaking himself and forcing off his jeans with just a little demonic convincing. He slipped into the bath with a low moan, the water was almost scalding hot, and the lavender scented bubbles engulfed him as he stretched out. The hot water began to seep into the tense muscles he’d held so tightly for the last week and he flexed his toes above the surface in complete bliss.

Aziraphale returned with a bottle of Calvados and two glasses to sit with his back against the wall as they chatted inanely. Well, it was mostly Aziraphale doing the talking. Crowley had never seen him so relaxed, sprawled out on the floor with eyes bright and open. It was hypnotic, addictive. Somewhere along his last meandering story Crowley had rolled to lean against the side of the tub to listen and drink better, completely captivated by the happy angel bubbling with conversation. _This_ was what had been missing, the hole that he hadn’t even realised had been gnawing away at his heart. The warmth he chased all these years to dinners and meetings in the park. He’d thought it was enough, that those snippets of Aziraphale was all that was on offer. Instead, he could have been having _this_. Aziraphale glowing with contentment, the warmth of his attention fuelling the long burning embers of Crowley’s heart. Dear _Someone_ , he loved the idiot.

“Oh dear, I have been going on…” Aziraphale said with a flush after coming to the end of a rambling tale of Greece and olives, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t let me bore you.”

“Nah, I’m used to it.”

“Oh, well…” They lapsed into silence, Aziraphale fiddling with the rim of his glass. He glanced up at Crowley a few times, eyes lingering on his lips and bare shoulders sticking out of the water. Crowley felt a rush of glee and didn’t even try and hide his smirk.

“Angel?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Stop being an idiot and come and kiss me.”

A shocked laugh burst through Aziraphale’s lips, and he placed the almost empty glass carefully on the floor before standing up. He walked over slowly, bending down to cup Crowley’s upturned face with aching tenderness before pressing their lips together.

They moved together softly at first, the same warmth from their first kiss radiating through Crowley’s chest. He kissed back, rising further out of the bath in the need to be closer. Aziraphale hummed softly against his lips, leaning in and running his fingers down the damp skin of Crowley’s neck. He shivered, a moan slipping from his lips at the drops of pleasure skating over his skin. He wanted _more._ He pulled Aziraphale closer, hands fisting in his shirt and blood pounding in his ears. He still wanted Aziraphale closer, needed to chase the warmth of his breath and the firm press of those soft lips. When Aziraphale’s tongue ran lightly along his bottom lip and slipped inside, deep sweetness of brandy and the hot slide of his mouth a cocktail on his senses. Crowley couldn’t supress the full body shudder and practically yanked the angel towards him so they could be pressed closer.

Aziraphale stumbled, a little cry escaping against Crowley’s lips as the arm bracketing him above the bath slipped, and he half fell on top of Crowley and into the water. He spluttered, immediately trying to right himself but instead of pushing himself up he grabbed one of Crowley’s legs. He gasped, fingers tightening around the skin for just a moment before trying to move back again. Crowley watched the blue eyes darken, and tightened his grip on Aziraphale’s shirt.

“Crowley!” scolded Aziraphale, the effect diminished by the laughter dancing in his eyes. “Let me up.”

“Only if you really want to….” He lowered his voice, eyes roaming around that soft round face as he pressed back into the touch on his thigh. “Do you want to?”

“We should…”

“No shoulds, angel.” There had been enough of that for a thousand lifetimes. “What do you _want?”_

A beat of silence. Aziraphale’s eyes lowered from Crowley’s face down his neck to take in the expanse of chest and hip that jutted out from the bubbles. His gaze scorched, fire burning through his veins and across his lungs. The hand on his thigh tightened, and Crowley gasped and leant greedily into his touch.

“Don’t let me up.”

With a growl of triumph Crowley hauled Aziraphale the rest of the way into the bath, ignoring the protests and the water slopping over the side. He grinned up at the now rather dishevelled angel above him, before pulling him down into another soggy slightly uncoordinated kiss. Aziraphale ran his hand up from his thigh to grip his hip, their legs entangled in the water enticing a shivering gasp.

“You’re beautiful, darling…” Aziraphale’s hands felt like they were everywhere, making Crowley squirm and arch in pleasure. He felt like he might explode out of his own skin, like he might burn through the layers until there was nothing left. He needed more, closer, _more._ He pulled at the shirt Aziraphale was somehow still wearing, the aching need to feel their skins pressed together without the barrier of clothing making him uncoordinated and desperate. Aziraphale was gasping in his ear, his lips pressing into whatever part of Crowley he could reach as his other palm splayed across his chest.

“Get this stupid thing off…” muttered Crowley between presses of lips to Aziraphale’s collar bone, desperate for more of the delicious sounds he was making. “Fuck, _angel.”_

Aziraphale pushed himself up, sloshing even more of the water and breaking the connection as he stared down at Crowley with wide desperate eyes. Crowley had no idea what was showing on his face, not aware of anything other than Aziraphale’s reassuring weight on his body and path of kisses burnt into his skin. There was a sizzle of miracle and Aziraphale’s clothes vanished, suddenly leaving miles of soft supple skin pressed against his own. With a groan, Crowley pulled Aziraphale back down to him, hands roaming and grasping wherever he could reach. He was so _soft,_ so wonderfully smooth and warm. He could feel Aziraphale’s effort pressed hot and hard against his thigh and he choked out a garbled plea.

“Is… Is this ok?” gasped Aziraphale, moving over Crowley in the bath to hold himself up on the side. The movement dragged their bodies together in a slow torturous slide, and Crowley moaning and pressed back eagerly.

“ _Please.”_ Crowley didn’t recognise his own ragged voice, didn’t even know what he was asking for. His world was narrowed down to the rocking of Aziraphale’s hips, the drag of his round stomach against his leaking cock. Crowley had never experienced anything like this, any solo experimentation a tiny spec in the universe compared to the shuddering explosion threatening to tear him to pieces. Pleasure was building deep in his stomach as they rocked together, Crowley chasing the deep unnamed need that was threatening to burn him to the ground. He gripped Aziraphale, clinging to the only thing that was keeping him tethered. Moans and indistinct garbling filled the space and it took Crowley far too long to realise it was him making these frantic sounds. He pressed his face into the warm skin of Aziraphale’s neck, crying out as Aziraphale rocked against him a little harder.

“Yes, you’re doing so well darling…” Aziraphale pressed kisses against the flushed skin of his face, his reassurances only fuel to the fire. “That’s it…. _Crowley.”_

Angel’s hips stuttered with a cry and his hands gripped Crowley’s side, fingernails digging in to the collection of skin and scales that lay there. White bliss exploded behind Crowley’s eyes as his name echoed around the small space, a broken cry of his own pressed into Aziraphale’s shoulder as he followed him over the precipice. He clung to the angel above him, his world spectacularly knocked from its axis.

Aziraphale was gasping and mumbling above him. “I love you, I love you…”

“Aziraphale…” Crowley felt like he was floating, all the tension and stress melted away. “ _Fuck_ that was… That was…”

“Yeah.”

They came back to themselves slowly, Aziraphale pressing kisses into Crowley’s hairline and being held tightly in return. He wasn’t sure how long they lay there, entwined in the half empty bath. Eventually they looked around the room, at the water sloshed over the floor, at the knocked over glasses and Aziraphale’s clothes piled haphazardly in the corner - and burst out laughing.

“Oh dear…” Aziraphale chuckled as he pressed a kiss onto Crowley’s temple. “We made a bit of a mess.”

Crowley peeked over the side, waving his hand to slosh the water back into the bath and pick the glasses up off the floor. He willed the temperature up a few degrees, and felt Aziraphale melt back against him.

“Oh, thank you darling that’s very kind of you.”

“ _Aziraphale!_ You’ve ruined the mood… _”_

“I stand by it.”

“Bastard.”

“You love me.” Aziraphale gave a smug little wiggle that made Crowley’s heart throb in his chest. He ran his fingers affectionately through his wet curls and tried to pull back the almost painful smile he knew was threatening to explode across his face. Traitor.

“I do.”

Crowley pulled himself up into a more seated position, gently manhandling Aziraphale to lie back against him. They were dangerously close to _cuddling_ but Crowley couldn’t bring himself to put any distance between them. Instead, he wrapped his arms tightly around Aziraphale’s chest and entwined their fingers, feeling the warm metal of his ring pressed between his hand and his love’s. Leaning back against the tub with a warm angel happily curled in his arms, the water cocooning them together, Crowley didn’t think he’d ever been more content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter will just be a short wrapping up, to be uploaded next week!


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! A short very fluffy little end for our two idiots. Thank you so much to everyone who's stuck with me to the end, you're the best! As always, this chapter is barely edited so apologies to the errors I'm sure you'll find.

“Oh _thank you_ my dear.” Aziraphale beamed as Crowley placed a cup of steaming tea at his elbow, and pulled him back to kiss him softly. Crowley let out an embarrassing garble and tried to stand up with a nonchalant shrug, which only made Aziraphale chuckle and pat him affectionately on the bum before resuming his reading. 

“I’m off out for a bit.” Said Crowley, when his face returned to its normal colour. “What time are we leaving?”

“We said we’d be at Miss Device’s for 3. Tadfield is a few hours away by car, is it not?”

Crowley smirked. “Not for me.”

“Well yes, with the way you drive…” Aziraphale tried for disapproving, but missed by miles. “Be back soon, darling, I miss you already.”

“ _Ngk._ Yep. Whatever.”

“I love you.”

“Er, yep, you… Ditto. You too.”

Ignoring the now very obvious grin spreading across the angel’s face, Crowley sauntered out of the bookshop and into the sun, hands already itching with anticipation of what he had planned.

Because Crowley was an idiot.

This wasn’t exactly a new revelation, though possibly an embarrassing one for a being who literally went down in history for tempting humans with knowledge. He’d drawn a lot of incorrect conclusions in his time, had messed up more than once (ok, so definitely more than once). The point still being that he did not always get it _quite_ right. It was only expected with someone like him, who ran headlong into everything he did, who grasped things with both hands and screamed into the void just to see what happened.

Then there was Aziraphale. He was reliable, dependable, a constant in the stream of changes and unpredictability. Aziraphale was someone who had worn the same coat for 200 years, who could always be relied upon to accept a lunch invitation and a nice bottle of wine. Crowley knew what he had to say to make him laugh, what would make him wring his hands or scold him in his special ‘ _you’ve-said-something-bad-I-agree-with-but-shouldn’t’_ voice. He knew Aziraphale’s favourite parts of London (the bookshop and St James’s), knew exactly how he liked his tea (Fortnum and Mason’s Queen Anne blend steeped for 4 minutes and 12 seconds with water just off the boil, in a white china cup and saucer), what he liked to listen to when reading on a rainy afternoon (Schubert) and what he listened to when he thought no one was around (Glen Miller). He had known Aziraphale for six thousand years, had known him through trials, through famines and wars and battles neither of them could bear to remember. 

And yet, the ridiculous angel still surprised him.

If you had asked him at the Ritz, when they had averted the end of days and survived the trials of Heaven and Hell, Crowley would have told you he was perfectly happy. And he _was._ They had survived, they were together. He loved, and was loved in return. It was more than he dared to dream, especially in those long years apart before Aziraphale looked at him like he’d hung the moon itself. What they had was precious and perfect, and Crowley wasn’t going to spoil that with something as un-angelic as _touching._ Well _._ How wrong could a demon be.

It had been six days since Aziraphale had stormed into that church basement and demanded Crowley’s return. In those six days, Aziraphale had called him darling, sweetheart, beautiful, dearest, _dove_. He’d kissed him in the morning in the bookshop, in the park, in the restaurants they went for dinner with a candle between them on the table. He’d sat beside him on the sofa when they drank in the evening, held his hand whilst they walked through London, and said ‘I love you’ 97 times. 98 now. Days were suddenly filled with picnics and museums, he’d even _cooked._ And nights were spent close in the previously neglected bed above the bookshop.

So yes, Crowley was an idiot. Because whilst he assumed Aziraphale wouldn’t like to be touched because he was an angel, he’d forgotten that he was an _angel._ Love was core to his very being, and how would a pleasure seeking, sentimental, smitten angel show his affection after years of fear and repression? To complete and utter absolute excess of course. 

And it was driving him insane.

Crowley had spent so long being careful, so long travelling at the crawling pace to keep Aziraphale next to him, that he had no idea how to act in this new reality. It was waiting _years_ for a present, yearning, wishing, _praying_ for it to then receive it and keep it close and safe to your heart only to be avalanched with thousands more of them when your back was turned. It was like Aziraphale was trying to prove himself, prove his love, as if it had been _Crowley_ who had gone so long without knowing their love returned, as if it had been _Crowley_ who had declared his love to archangels and saved him from Death himself. Twice. 

So Crowley had done what he did best - he’d panicked. He stumbled over words, tried to match the angel’s open and honest touches of affection. And whilst there were joyful smiles, warm kisses and embraces, nothing Crowley seemed to do brought that perfect soft glowing look on Aziraphale’s face that he craved the most. So, after days of trying everything else, he eventually had an idea.

When he returned to the bookshop a few hours later with a small box burning a hole in his pocket, the world already felt a little more steady under his feet. This he could do. This he was practiced in.

“Angel?”

“Oh, you’re back!”

Aziraphale appeared from behind a stack of books, practically glowing with the smile that stretched across his face as he walked closer. Crowley’s heart skipped to double time as he entered his personal space, leaning to cup his face and press a chaste kiss to his lips. Six days had done nothing to dull the thrill of closeness, the throb of blood through his veins. He gasped into the kiss, and Aziraphale gave a happy little hum before pulling away to smile at him. He reached up to remove his glasses, tucking them in his jacket pocket and ignoring Crowley’s raised eyebrows.

“There you are. Cause enough havoc to last you until dinner, my dear?”

“Oh, er… Yeah, loads of demonic stuff, definitely.” Crowley shrugged, and reached into his pocket. “I got you…”

The sound of the bell rang through the shop to signal a customer entering, and Aziraphale leant around Crowley’s frame to scowl furiously at whoever had entered.

“We’re closed!”

“Oh, but I only need….” A woman’s tentative voice began, but Aziraphale moved towards the door and started to push her out.

“No, sorry my dear, shop emergency, we’ll be closed for the rest of the day…” He ushered the stuttering young woman out of the shop and flipped the sign to closed before turning back to Crowley, who was watching him with amused affection. “What were you saying, darling?”

“You know, you should be nicer to customers…” Crowley smirked, but dug in his pocket to pull out the box he had been thinking about all week. “I got you this. To er, to match.”

Crowley held out the blue velvet box, and Aziraphale reached out with tentative fingers. He watched as the angel touched the top of the box with reverence, glancing under his eyelashes at Crowley with questions in his eyes before opening the lid with a gasp.

“Oh, _Crowley.”_

Aziraphale pulled out the gold ring nestled inside, lips pressed together and eyes shining with emotion as he looked up. That was it. That was the look he’d been aching to see again all week. That soft gaze made his bones _ache._ Aziraphale stared at him as he clutched the golden band between his fingers and Crowley’s breath caught in his chest at the love practically radiated out of the angel. He couldn’t physically detect it, not like Aziraphale could, but he didn’t think anyone with eyes would be able to miss the emotions shining from those bright eyes.

“It’s a Claddagh ring…” added Crowley tentatively, gesturing to the crowned heart held between a pair of hands tight in Aziraphale’s grip. “I wanted to get you something, to match mine. But I thought an animal wasn’t your style.”

“It’s… It’s beautiful…” sniffed Aziraphale, holding it tightly to his chest. “I love it. I love _you._ Friendship, love, loyalty, is that right?”

“Always, angel.”

“Is this…” Blue eyes met yellow with such piercing devotion that Crowley almost crumbled. That look shouldn’t be meant for him, a mere _demon._ Aziraphale’s divinity burned through him, love amplifying the glow tenfold to leave no doubt in its wake. There was nothing short of worship scorching from that angelic gaze, all focused on Crowley. “Is this a matching pair to… Wear like humans?”

Wear like humans? What could… _Oh._ He hadn’t thought of the connotations of a pair of rings, only driven by the need to get something physical to express himself to his love. They weren’t human, marriages and contracts and things meant nothing to them… And they could hardly be joined _before God,_ at least in the traditional sense of the word. But the suggestion had sparked Crowley’s imagination, had fed the feral beast inside him that only yearned to protect, to hold and to keep. People would look at Aziraphale and know he was _his._ They would know they were bonded, know the aching throbbing thing that threatened to crack out of Crowley’s chest. _Aziraphale_ would know, forever and always, a physical promise of his love for him. A gift. If this was what the angel wanted… Well, he would have done anything to feel even slightly worthy of the gaze cast upon him now.

“Like humans.” Crowley nodded, removing his own ring and securing it on the fourth finger of his left hand. “If that’s ok?”

A small sob caught in Aziraphale’s chest as he slid the ring onto his finger, and he reached out to clutch Crowley to him.

“Oh Crowley, I love you too.”

100 and counting, to 6000 and beyond. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first fic on here, so any feedback is MASSIVELY appreciated. Thank you for all the comments and kudos, I really feel the love!


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